The Beautiful Girl and the History Class (CK)

[DaddyTorgo]

uh oh...what's wrong with Melody?

[DaddyTorgo]

dola

and you've named the restraunt both magoo's and mario's izulde

[Izulde]

Thanks for the catch I'd had a bit much when I wrote that post.

As for what's wrong.... only time will tell

[Izulde]

When I wake up the next morning, there's a large, empty space beside me.

Melody's absence doesn't surprise me, but what does is the small, square piece of white paper setting on the nightstand.

A note. For me. In a handwriting so ornate and so beautiful, it's positively calligraphic.

"Nick,

I had to leave earlier than expected. Please let yourself out.

Melody."

I'm a little put off by the curtness, but nonetheless I quickly dress, sliding the note in my pocket.

I go to the door and turn the knob to let myself out.

Locked.

I try again.

Still locked.

....Why would she lock the door? It doesn't make any sense. I press my ear against the wood. Nothing that I can hear, nor do I see anything when I kneel to peer through the keyhole. The hallway outside is as barren and orderly as it was last night when we got back.

Sighing, I look around the room, with all its pink and white girly girl decor. The only other exit I can see is the window.

It slides open easily.

I peer outside and discover that the backyard has only its sycamore tree and fencing lilac bushes. Apparently this is the way I'm supposed to go out.

As I climb out the window and drop on to the grass, I'm reminded of afterwards last night, when we were lying in bed and she was telling me a story I found a little peculiar.

Apparently, some several hundred years ago, one of Melody's ancestors was sleeping in bed when a servant rushed in and woke him up. An angry mob was approaching to lynch him over what Melody lightly referred to as, "some silly matter about taxes... You know how common people are, always obsessing over every last cent of what little money they have."

This ancestor snuck out the window of his first floor bedroom in much the same manner that I'm doing now and ran off into the forest. Scarcely five minutes later, the mob appeared and burned his chateau down.

He escaped with his life and attributed it to the fact that he'd chosen the downstairs bedroom to sleep in, rather than the third floor as he usually did, for if he'd slept there, he never would have gotten out in time.

"Ever since then", my darling rich girl concluded, "the Suchets have always had their bedrooms on the ground floor, in memory of our ancestor."

Sounds bizzare doesn't it? And yet, it's coming to the point where there's not much that can truly shock me about Melody. Gemstone hunter, beauty, rich girl with a family and history that sounds more interesting as I learn more and more...

She's still a mystery to me, though. It's why I don't tell her what I'm beginning to realize about the way I feel. I can't do that.. I can't put myself out there into uncertainty, risking everything that I have now.

Because if she should say no, if she should treat me with the same... well.. the way that I've treated a lot of girls in the past, if I have to be completely honest with myself, I wouldn't be able to take it.

She has already ruined all other girls for me.

She can't ruin love for me, too.

A half-minute later, I'm on the sidewalk, glancing at the blank spot where her Boxter was yesterday.

May she never leave my heart as empty and dark as the asphalt road is now.

[Izulde]

It's strange. I'm starting to get tired of the parties--the same old frat hags, the same boring conversations and old jokes again and again. We do get a lot of people at our Saturday night events, but this campus still isn't big enough to have much variety after a while in the people that come.

I find myself wanting to just hang out with Melody, to be in the presence of something better than fart jokes, weed jokes, gay jokes, snobby sorority girls who are in every way inferior to...

...I'm even starting to -sound- like Melody now. What's wrong with me?

It's something I continue to puzzle as I sit here, 15 minutes before class and actually going through my notes. They're all blurred as I can't focus. Why would she lock the door on me? What does she -really- think of me? Is this what being in love is like? Being uncertain and constantly thinking about someone else?

If it is, no wonder a good third of the girls I dated were a little on the crazy side and no wonder almost all of them were crushed when I dumped them.

For once, Morengay on Monday is a breath of fresh air and I concentrate solely on him from the moment he enters, even though the hairs on the back of my neck tingle when I realize Melody's in the room. I don't even need to see her. It's just an automatic knowing, a knowing that runs through me that I can't explain.

Caveman told me once, in one of his rare talking moods, that when someone feels exceptionally close to someone else, a kind of bond is forged between them where the first person is instantly able to sense the other's nearness or when something monumental's happening to them. He said he's experienced with it a few of his online girlfriends, that he'd be working on something when all of a sudden, he'd get the feeling that whoever he was seeing at the time was online. He'd go to the computer and there they were.

It sounded really out there and I had to struggle to keep from laughing at him, but now I'm starting to wonder...

Oh good, Morengay's clearing his throat. Now I can stop thinking and start taking notes.

"Good morning class! Hope you all enjoyed your weekend!

When we left last time, things were looking pretty hairy in Italy-Croatia. King Yves I was hated and there were revolts and rebellions throughout the dual kingdom, suicides and depressions in the royal court at Bologna, plague in Ferrara and a whole host of other nastiness.

The stress of overseeing such a vast domain as the two kingdoms, particularly given his unpopularity and, to be totally frank, absolute lack of qualification to govern such a large territory, grew with each passing year, so that by 1125, courtiers were beginning to write in their diaries about how the king was prone to occasional outbursts of rage against anyone who dared mention his father's greatness within earshot.

He also ordered that his father Louis's and his brother Arnaud's bodies be removed from the royal maloseum in Bologna and put on board a ship, where they were to be thrown into the Adriatic Sea near the spot where it was discovered that Louis I had passed in sleep.

Yves I said on this occassion, and I quote from Queen Gunhild I's own diary here, "If the people love Arnaud as they loved my father and wished that he would have been King instead of me, then let both their loved bodies be eaten by the serpents of the deep, so that the people will know if they dare to rebel openly against me or to speak of anyone other than me as King, then they shall meet the same fate!"

The orders were carried out, but the mood of the dual kingdom darkened all the more and even the Jimenez and the Premyslids, the two bitterly feuding houses, began to quietly be united on the idea that it would be best for Italy-Croatia if Yves were to meet his end sooner rather than later.

As the months went by, Yves became more and more obsessed with the idea of proving that he was a better king than Louis I had been and by July 1125, he had hit upon a plan.

He would invade the Duchy of Apuila to the south and set about uniting all of Italy under his banner.

War was joined, the royal regiments at Messina, Mantua, and Modena summoned to fight. The people of Mantua did not take well at all to the conscripting of the troops and joined their neighbors in Bologna and the Arabs in Palermo in rioting and revolting against Yves. The king, focused solely on gaining Apuila, paid no attention, instead monitoring the war from what he newly named de Semur Castle, but what everyone else still called Louis Castle.

Intelligence quickly reached the Italian-Croatian king that Apuila's armies were in fact larger than anticipated and so Yves demanded that the regiments from Lombardia and his Croatian counties of Usora, Hum, and Zeta enter the war as well, despite the considerable strain this placed on the treasury.

Dissenters from Mantua appeared in Lombardia shortly after the regiment left and incited the Lombardians to destroy the courthouse, shouting to the mob that assembled: "Louis was a great and just king! Yves is a bastard son, for no rightful noble of de Semur blood would defile his family's remains or press his people into unwanted wars!"

This belated claim of illegitimacy gained widespread support and wholesale belief among the peasantry and the burghers throughout Italy and Croatia. The clergy and nobility were tellingly silent on the matter, for though they knew Yves to be legitimate, they wished him gone and so let the lower orders, as the rank and file were called in those days, ramble on.

Yves himself ignored these rumours, for as I said, southern Italy was all he wanted.

Things appeared headed to a perilous conclusion for the de Semurs when all of a sudden, help came from a completely unexpected quarter in December 1125. Pope Spinetto I, an Italian from Reggio who had long hated the Norman presence, declared war on Apuila as well, calling for the destruction of the de Hautevilles and the unification of the peninsula under the de Semur banner, who through their various construction projects even under Yves, were said to be a family that cared for the people, current monarch notwithstanding, and even a Southern French overlord of Italy was better than a Northern French ruler.

I should also add that by this time, the de Semurs had become considered even by the Italians to be the rightful ruling house of the kingdom, dissent with Yves aside.

Returning to the campaing, Chancellor Ramiro Jimenez spearheaded the campaign in Apuila province and he executed the war so skillfully that Apuila proper fell on New Year's Day, 1126, leading to popular acclaim of the Jimenez across the two kingdoms.

Emboldened by this success, Ramiro marched on towards Salerno, crushing the 65 year old Count of Bari, Roger Borsa de Hauteville, in what was then considered a decisive battle in the campaign.

Unfortunately, the military successes were not matched by happy affairs back in Bologna. Modena joined the ranks of rebellious counties and by April, King Yves I was making public announcements that Ramiro Jimenez's victories in the Norman lands and the Pope's endorsement of the war meant that he, Yves, was the Messiah, the second coming of Jesus who was going to cleanse Italy of Norman influences and unite it under God's Holy Will.

This sudden surge of religion, albeit egocentric, took everyone by surprise and boded ill for the de Semur hopes, for the clergy, longtime haters of Yves, seized upon these proclamations to paint the monarch as a heretic.

Napoli fell in May, but Apuila was reconquered by the de Hautevilles two days before that. This news upset Yves so much that he ordered the Duke of Toscana to mobilize his 4,100 strong army in Firenze. Although the vassal complied, he became one of the first dukes to openly start doubting Yves's fitness for the throne.

This calamity was further aggravated by the development of a large-scale gang, a Mafia really, in the province of Messina. The people appealed to Yves for help, but the king turned a deaf ear, for he deemed the matter of southern Italy to be of holier import than a few Italian citizens.

In fact, by this time, Yves himself was marching on campaign in the de Hauteville domain with the Bologna regiment. This proved a disaster, for he was routed by the Count of Consenza in an embarassing late August defeat that spelled trouble for Italy-Croatia's aims in the war.

By the start of September, Ramiro Jimenez had once again won back Apuila, but Napoli had fallen back into de Hauteville hands and furthermore, Pope Spinetto's superior forces were crushed in Roma, a major victory for the Norman side.

A revolt in Ferrara and the Messina mafia's spread to Modena were the least of Yves's domestic worries, for an armed rebellion once again raged in Palermo.

At the rate things were going, it would take a miracle to avoid a devastating and humiliating defeat for the de Semurs.

A miracle that the self-proclaimed Second Coming seemed incapable of providing.

Time's up. See you Wednesday."

After a lecture like that and with how weird I've been feeling lately, I don't even think about approaching Melody.

Luckily, she doesn't come to me, either.

Time for me to clear my head.

Time for me to go to the archery range.

[Izulde]

There's nothing more relaxing than fitting an arrow to a bow, taking aim, and shooting at a target some yards away. The red recurve I spend all afternoon shooting with is one I got for a high school graduation present and it's among my most cherished possessions.

I love to fish and I love to shoot target archery, but hunting's never appealed to me, either bow or gun. There's just something about seeing a dead deer, pheasant, bear, moose, whatever that's sad in a way that a dead fish isn't.

I'm once again calm and my anxieties over Melody diminish by four, after taking a break at noon for lunch at this terrific hamburger joint not far from the sports club where I shoot.

By Wednesday, I smile faintly and give Melody an upnod as I walk into class three minutes before Morengay starts his lecture. She cooly nods back, which is more recognition than she gives anyone else but Morengay. I've heard some of the other students make snide remarks about her being a suckup, but it just goes to show ignorant they are.

Which only makes sense. I mean hell, half of them are freshmen and the rest of them are still in that stage where they're figuring out life and themselves. It's not like high school, where your world, even if it sucks, is neatly defined, with expectations and boundaries that you recognize and oddly enjoy, even as you protest them.

College, and life's unlimited freedoms and accompanying responsibilities upend everything, especially if you've been given everything and had everything done for you. I'm not putting Melody in that category, by the way. She strikes me as pretty damn independent. It's the dependent ones that really have the bottom drop out on them.

Morengay clears his throat and I drift out of my quiet, curious philosophical thinking to listen.

"Wholesale revolts, a really bad campaign, and a King who thought himself the next Jesus is where we left off of last time.

In spite of the revolts and the rebellion in Palermo, the Kingdom of Italy-Croatia was not the only one suffering from realm-wide war weariness. Apuila, too, tired of fighting to the point that in mid-September, Duke Henry de Hauteville offered to give up his claim on Messina and pay King Yves I 2,845 florins in order to end the war.

The Bolognan court, recovering from the end of the city revolt a week before, strongly urged Yves to accept the deal, which was not only extraordinarily fair, but would've allowed the mad monarch to save face before Europe.

But Yves refused, countering with a demand for the ducal title of Apuila.

And so the war continued.

In November, Boruhav Premyslid, the Steward, who had taken command of the main Italian-Croatian army, won a resounding victory over a massed Apuilian army that gave hope for the war's eventual end on Yves's terms, for the king had repeatedly refused that earlier peace offer which the Duke of Apuila made again and again, hoping to make the de Semur lord see reason.

Countering this good news was an army of 900 peasants who rose up under the banner of a country priest to storm Louis Castle, which really was its rightful name, and begin open and armed rebellion. With the royal regiment in the field and the vassal armies of Firenze and the Duke of Calabria already abroad as well, Yves could not risk angering his vassals any more than they already were by ordering a regiment to Bologna.

November 19th, two weeks after the Premyslid-led victory, the main armies were crushed by Duke Henry, but on the bright side, the Apuilian forces were greatly fatigued, their morale hit hard by this seeming never-ending war that prolonged itself only because of Yves's fanaticism.

As if this wasn't bad enough, a little over a month later, the Duke of Karten, enraged at his liege's bullheadedness in the Apuila campaign, declared indepedence against King Yves I and went to arms to both defend his right to the Duchy and to win some territory that he had legal claim to."

Morengay paused to put a picture up on his overhead.



"Duke Almerich von Zahringen intended on annexing Messina, Palermo, Modena and Chalons. If he succeeded in his aims, he would own not only all the de Semur royal possessions on Sicily, the rest in Italy-Croatia vassal hands, but he would have both the ancestral de Semur home and one of the de Semur Four.

Messina would not have been too terrible a loss, but Palermo was the capital of the dual kingdom's south region, Chalons, though poor, was of symbolic importance, and I don't need to tell you how bad it'd be to have an enemy right next to your rebelling capital.

Despite these calamities, the tide was turning by March 1127. Another important victory by the Premyslid steward that imperiled Apuila's chances of ever raising enough troops to win the war, combined with Yves I's most loyal vassal, the Governor of Genoa, pledging 3,300 republican troops to fight the Duke of Karten in the northern theatre, meant that total victory looked within reach after all.

At the happy Genoan intelligence, not even the most anti-Yves citizen could be too discouraged with news of rebellion in Messina, especially not since the Bolognan insurrection was put down by an elite squad of just 180 soldiers from Lombardia.

And indeed, the war did turn in Yves's favor, so much so that by August of 1127, Duke Henry de Hauteville's territory was entirely under Italian-Croatian hands and with many a tears, the Norman who loved south Italy more than anything in the world, surrendered his title of Duke of Apuila to a triumphant King Yves I. Henry then with heavy heart moved his capital from Apuila to Salerno, which according to feudal law at the time was where he had to live as he was still Duke of Salerno, even though he still owned his beloved Apuila county.

This victory not only signified a remarkable turnaround for the embattled king, but it raised the stature of both the Jimenez and Premyslid houses, thus ensuring that neither faction would be yet the winner in their feud, even though as I said, they were beginning to unite on the idea of Yves's ouster.

After this stunning military success, Yves returned to Bologna to celebrate and proclaim his victories to the masses from the parapets of Louis Castle, for by this time, the clergy was so active against him, he dared not set foot in a church.

The remaining regiments were given no rest, bur ordered north to deal with the rebellious Duke of Karten.

Tragically, just two days after the peace treaty with Apuila, Diocese Bishop Pedro Jimenez, who saw the de Semurs take part of the Middle East and who witnessed the near unification of Italy, died without ever having returned to his beloved Iberia, which was now overrun by the Emirate of Sevilla.

His last words were, "Though I never saw again my beautiful Navarra, I die knowing I go to God and that while I was in this world, I helped direct the minds of kings to fighting for Christian freedom in the holy land."

The greatly beloved bishop was replaced by Yves I's nephew, 23 year old Fadrique de Semur, a young and impassioned cleric who revered his old mentor and counted himself among the Jimenez faction in terms of the main court intrigues.

To balance the anger from the Premyslid faction, Yves married Elionare de Semur, who had just turned 16, to an extremely talented young Premyslid who had also just reached the age of majority. Even though he was insane and a terribly inept military commander and administrator, King Yves I knew how to keep the factionalism in his court from overwhelming his rule.

The Karten problem was not the only war that Yves was dealing with towards the end of 1127. Messina again rebelled and the Duke of Jaffa-Ascalon in the Middle East was attacked by the Kingdom of Egypt, leading Yves to declare war once more on that diminished, but still dangerous foe.

The dual kingdoms, having gotten through one crisis, were now in the throes of another, for Egypt was strong enough to give Italy-Croatia difficulty, to the degree that the de Semur presence in the region was threatened.

This would've made Pedro Jimenez roll in his grave.

We'll stop there and pick up next time with these two set of wars."

I can't help but admire Yves. Everybody hates him and he's a lunatic, but he's evidently fox-crazy because he keeps right on winning and right on beating out everyone who wants to get rid of him.

But how long can his luck hold up? Oh, sure I know it's history and everything, but to me it's like a story I'm hearing a chapter at a time.

Melody walks over to me on her way out and slips a note in my hand, saying, "I've an appointment to keep, so I can't talk. Read this when you get a chance."

Before I can answer, she's briskly turned around and swiftly heading off the other way.

I won't open it just yet. I skipped breakfast this morning because I slept a little late.

I'll read it on a full stomach.

[Izulde]

I pick up pancakes, drowned in syrup and butter, along with three sausage links and a tall glass of orange juice at the student union cafeteria.

It isn't after until I eat and feel my brain start to wake up from the joyous reception of food that I finally unfold the squared note and begin reading that gorgeous calligraphy from the other morning.

"Nick,

I love you.

But I can't. I can't love you.

I can't become pretty Mrs. Duncan on Sycamore Street with the two kids and the dog, living a common life. I'm too used to -my- life, my world, to ever be happy in yours.

You're a small town kind of boy, Nick. Your life is one of ordinary things, ordinary people. Diner breakfasts, Friday night fish frys, the big yearly vacation to Vegas, summer and winter fishing, slo-pitch softball on Saturday night with your friends from your favorite bar.

Football Sundays, Super Bowl parties of nachos and beers, spring and summer baseball games, finding out how Sally's doing at school, worrying about the next mortgage payment, helping Sam to realize it's okay to be just another guy.

And that's right and good for -you-, Nick, but not for me.

Not when my life is one of big cities, majestic mountains, frequent flying, benefit balls, show openings, film festivals, horse races, ballets, operas, orchestras and the now and then rock concert.

Vegas, with its gauche middle-class sleaziness and the noveau riche, its used and tired strippers, loud noises and profane bigness and flashy lights has nothing on the quiet elegance of Monte Carlo, where the clientele is truly respectable and noble, not like Joe Bob in the ugly Hawaiian shirt and his paunchy wife playing at the low-limit blackjack tables.

Our suppers are prepared by the best in the world of cuisine, our palates so refined that we can barely stomach the food that you and yours like. We do not tell our children that it is okay to be ordinary, but bring them up as what they are, the newest generation in a long line of leadership, wealth, civility and the highest standards in noblesse oblige.

And even if I could handle it, even if I could stand the lower existence out of love for you, I would not be able to stand you only being alive for a third of your life.

That is the saddest thing about a common life, Nick. Men and women are dead for eight hours a day, slaving away at some job that means nothing in the larger scheme of things and give them little, if any pleasure. Then for another eight hours, they sleep, leaving just a third of the day that is theirs. A third of the day to be truly alive and yourself.

Do you think I could just sit by and watch while the man I love is dead to me for two-thirds of his entire life, to be only alive for that small slice of time? I couldn't and I won't.

I know you are too proud to accept my family's money, so that you could become one of us and by that I mean one of the leisure class, who have all but the sleeping hours as our own, to do with it as we please. And I do not blame you for this, for I understand it.

It is a pity that you were not born in a higher station, my love, for sometimes I see in you flashes of the kind of traits that mark a great man.

But things are the way they are, so let us now part ways, while the memories are still happy. Let it be as a sweet dream, sweeter for its shortness, and always remember one another fondly.

Forever yours in a dream,
Melody Anne Suchet

P.S.-It would be rude of me to rescind the invitation to my father's holiday party, so if you still wish to come in December, please do so. You will receive the invitation in November."

My heart rises with the most dizzying kind of glee when I read those first three words, but it falls, tumbles to the bottom of my stomach as I read on.

By the end, I see a ring of Melodys around my heart, laughing cooly as they swing their flaming swords one by one, slashing and burning my newly tender, newly loving organ.

My body flushes hot with the sensation of fire in my stomach, then cold from the stark horror of what's happening.

I start shaking.

This can't be real. Oh God, this can't be real. Why? Why, why, why , why?

I don't even know I'm crying until a group of my brothers come by and ask me what's wrong.

"Just get me back to the house", I whisper, "And for God's sake, don't let anybody see me. I have... my reputation..."

Drake's one of them. He nods and quickly orders a four person phalanx around me, my own version of the de Semur Four.

I don't see anything that's around me, though I do feel a hat being placed on my hat, no doubt to shield me from being spotted.

The whole world's a blur as I sob and shiver under my guard, but somehow I make it to the house without falling, even though I feel faint right about now.

Drake and the other three stay with me, helping me up the stairs to the second floor, where I can hear some country song playing from Paul's room at the end of the hall.

You can run you can hide never let it inside
Keep living your life in the dark
But sooner or later that gentle persuader
Is gonna catch up with your heart
Make you a dreamer, believer
Believer in love

It's the ultimate irony and the final breaking straw. I send the others away, telling them I'll be all right. Drake looks like he wants to argue, but changes his mind and herds everyone off.

I lock the door and don't come out for the rest of the day.

[Izulde]

I make it to classes on Tuesday, but everything's in a haze. I keep seeing her face floating in front of me and I can't concentrate on anything.

Tuesday night, I lock myself in my room again and get lost in the memories of our times together.. the conversations, the bedroom passions, the places we've been and eaten... a montage of sounds and images that stream as they will, with no effort on my part to control them.

Then something snags and sticks. Her father's favorite short story. What was it? Hungry Scones? No... Stones.

Studying's useless and I can't stop thinking about her anyway, so I might as well find that story.

A visit to Caveman's room later and I'm reading the story in a Norton's Anthology that I don't pay attention to the title of.

The Hungry Stones by Rabindranath Tagore

MY kinsman and myself were returning to Calcutta from our Puja trip when we met the man in a train. From his dress and bearing we took him at first for an up-country Mahomedan, but we were puzzled as we heard him talk. He discoursed upon all subjects so confidently that you might think the Disposer of All Things consulted him at all times in all that He did. Hitherto we had been perfectly happy, as we did not know that secret and unheard-of forces were at work, that the Russians had advanced close to us, that the English had deep and secret policies, that confusion among the native chiefs had come to a head. But our newly-acquired friend said with a sly smile: "There happen more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are reported in your newspapers." As we had never stirred out of our homes before, the demeanour of the man struck us dumb with wonder. Be the topic ever so trivial, he would quote science, or comment on the Vedas, or repeat quatrains from some Persian poet; and as we had no pretence to a knowledge of science or the Vedas or Persian, our admiration for him went on increasing, and my kinsman, a theosophist, was firmly convinced that our fellow-passenger must have been supernaturally inspired by some strange "magnetism" or "occult power," by an "astral body" or something of that kind. He listened to the tritest saying that fell from the lips of our extraordinary companion with devotional rapture, and secretly took down notes of his conversation. I fancy that the extraordinary man saw this, and was a little pleased with it.

When the train reached the junction, we assembled in the waiting-room for the connection. It was then 10 P. M., and as the train, we heard, was likely to be very late, owing to something wrong in the lines, I spread my bed on the table and was about to lie down for a comfortable doze, when the extraordinary person deliberately set about spinning the following yarn. Of course, I could get no sleep that night.


When, owing to a disagreement about some questions of administrative policy, I threw up my post at Junagarh, and entered the service of the Nizam of Hyderabad, they appointed me at once, as a strong young man, collector of cotton duties at Barich.

Barich is a lovely place. The Susta "chatters over stony ways and babbles on the pebbles," tripping, like a skilful dancing girl, in through the woods below the lonely hills. A flight of 150 steps rises from the river, and above that flight, on the river's brim and at the foot of the hills, there stands a solitary marble palace. Around it there is no habitation of man--the village and the cotton mart of Barich being far off.

About 250 years ago the Emperor Mahmud Shah II. had built this lonely palace for his pleasure and luxury. In his days jets of rose-water spurted from its fountains, and on the cold marble floors of its spray-cooled rooms young Persian damsels would sit, their hair dishevelled before bathing, and, splashing their soft naked feet in the clear water of the reservoirs, would sing, to the tune of the guitar, the ghazals of their vineyards.

The fountains play no longer; the songs have ceased; no longer do snow-white feet step gracefully on the snowy marble. It is but the vast and solitary quarters of cess-collectors like us, men oppressed with solitude and deprived of the society of women. Now, Karim Khan, the old clerk of my office, warned me repeatedly not to take up my abode there. "Pass the day there, if you like," said he, "but never stay the night." I passed it off with a light laugh. The servants said that they would work till dark, and go away at night. I gave my ready assent. The house had such a bad name that even thieves would not venture near it after dark.

At first the solitude of the deserted palace weighed upon me like a nightmare. I would stay out, and work hard as long as possible, then return home at night jaded and tired, go to bed and fall asleep.

Before a week had passed, the place began to exert a weird fascination upon me. It is difficult to describe or to induce people to believe; but I felt as if the whole house was like a living organism slowly and imperceptibly digesting me by the action of some stupefying gastric juice.

Perhaps the process had begun as soon as I set my foot in the house, but I distinctly remember the day on which I first was conscious of it.

It was the beginning of summer, and the market being dull I had no work to do. A little before sunset I was sitting in an arm-chair near the water's edge below the steps. The Susta had shrunk and sunk low; a broad patch of sand on the other side glowed with the hues of evening; on this side the pebbles at the bottom of the clear shallow waters were glistening. There was not a breath of wind anywhere, and the still air was laden with an oppressive scent from the spicy shrubs growing on the hills close by.

As the sun sank behind the hill-tops a long dark curtain fell upon the stage of day, and the intervening hills cut short the time in which light and shade mingle at sunset. I thought of going out for a ride, and was about to get up when I heard a foot-fall on the steps behind. I looked back, but there was no one.

As I sat down again, thinking it to be an illusion, I heard many footfalls, as if a large number of persons were rushing down the steps. A strange thrill of delight, slightly tinged with fear, passed through my frame, and though there was not a figure before my eyes, methought I saw a bevy of joyous maidens coming down the steps to bathe in the Susta in that summer evening. Not a sound was in the valley, in the river, or in the palace, to break the silence, but I distinctly heard the maidens' gay and mirthful laugh, like the gurgle of a spring gushing forth in a hundred cascades, as they ran past me, in quick playful pursuit of each other, towards the river, without noticing me at all. As they were invisible to me, so I was, as it were, invisible to them. The river was perfectly calm, but I felt that its still, shallow, and clear waters were stirred suddenly by the splash of many an arm jingling with bracelets, that the girls laughed and dashed and spattered water at one another, that the feet of the fair swimmers tossed the tiny waves up in showers of pearl.

I felt a thrill at my heart--I cannot say whether the excitement was due to fear or delight or curiosity. I had a strong desire to see them more clearly, but naught was visible before me; I thought I could catch all that they said if I only strained my ears; but however hard I strained them, I heard nothing but the chirping of the cicadas in the woods. It seemed as if a dark curtain of 250 years was hanging before me, and I would fain lift a corner of it tremblingly and peer through, though the assembly on the other side was completely enveloped in darkness.

The oppressive closeness of the evening was broken by a sudden gust of wind, and the still surface of the Susta rippled and curled like the hair of a nymph, and from the woods wrapt in the evening gloom there came forth a simultaneous murmur, as though they were awakening from a black dream. Call it reality or dream, the momentary glimpse of that invisible mirage reflected from a far-off world, 250 years old, vanished in a flash. The mystic forms that brushed past me with their quick unbodied steps, and loud, voiceless laughter, and threw themselves into the river, did not go back wringing their dripping robes as they went. Like fragrance wafted away by the wind they were dispersed by a single breath of the spring.

Then I was filled with a lively fear that it was the Muse that had taken advantage of my solitude and possessed me--the witch had evidently come to ruin a poor devil like myself making a living by collecting cotton duties. I decided to have a good dinner--it is the empty stomach that all sorts of incurable diseases find an easy prey. I sent for my cook and gave orders for a rich, sumptuous dinner, redolent of spices and ghi.

Next morning the whole affair appeared a queer fantasy. With a light heart I put on a sola hat like the sahebs, and drove out to my work. I was to have written my quarterly report that day, and expected to return late; but before it was dark I was strangely drawn to my house--by what I could not say--I felt they were all waiting, and that I should delay no longer. Leaving my report unfinished I rose, put on my sola hat, and startling the dark, shady, desolate path with the rattle of my carriage, I reached the vast silent palace standing on the gloomy skirts of the hills.

On the first floor the stairs led to a very spacious hall, its roof stretching wide over ornamental arches resting on three rows of massive pillars, and groaning day and night under the weight of its own intense solitude. The day had just closed, and the lamps had not yet been lighted. As I pushed the door open a great bustle seemed to follow within, as if a throng of people had broken up in confusion, and rushed out through the doors and windows and corridors and verandas and rooms, to make its hurried escape.

As I saw no one I stood bewildered, my hair on end in a kind of ecstatic delight, and a faint scent of attar and unguents almost effaced by age lingered in my nostrils. Standing in the darkness of that vast desolate hall between the rows of those ancient pillars, I could hear the gurgle of fountains plashing on the marble floor, a strange tune on the guitar, the jingle of ornaments and the tinkle of anklets, the clang of bells tolling the hours, the distant note of nahabat, the din of the crystal pendants of chandeliers shaken by the breeze, the song of bulbuls from the cages in the corridors, the cackle of storks in the gardens, all creating round me a strange unearthly music.

Then I came under such a spell that this intangible, inaccessible, unearthly vision appeared to be the only reality in the world--and all else a mere dream. That I, that is to say, Srijut So-and-so, the eldest son of So-and-so of blessed memory, should be drawing a monthly salary of Rs. 450 by the discharge of my duties as collector of cotton duties, and driving in my dog-cart to my office every day in a short coat and sola hat, appeared to me to be such an astonishingly ludicrous illusion that I burst into a horse-laugh, as I stood in the gloom of that vast silent hall.

At that moment my servant entered with a lighted kerosene lamp in his hand. I do not know whether he thought me mad, but it came back to me at once that I was in very deed Srijut So-and-so, son of So-and-so of blessed memory, and that, while our poets, great and small, alone could say whether inside or outside the earth there was a region where unseen fountains perpetually played and fairy guitars, struck by invisible fingers, sent forth an eternal harmony, this at any rate was certain, that I collected duties at the cotton market at Barich, and earned thereby Rs. 450 per mensem as my salary. I laughed in great glee at my curious illusion, as I sat over the newspaper at my camp-table, lighted by the kerosene lamp.

After I had finished my paper and eaten my moghlai dinner, I put out the lamp, and lay down on my bed in a small side-room. Through the open window a radiant star, high above the Avalli hills skirted by the darkness of their woods, was gazing intently from millions and millions of miles away in the sky at Mr. Collector lying on a humble camp-bedstead. I wondered and felt amused at the idea, and do not know when I fell asleep or how long I slept; but I suddenly awoke with a start, though I heard no sound and saw no intruder--only the steady bright star on the hilltop had set, and the dim light of the new moon was stealthily entering the room through the open window, as if ashamed of its lntrusion.

I saw nobody, but felt as if some one was gently pushing me. As I awoke she said not a word, but beckoned me with her five fingers bedecked with rings to follow her cautiously. I got up noiselessly, and, though not a soul save myself was there in the countless apartments of that deserted palace with its slumbering sounds and waking echoes, I feared at every step lest any one should wake up. Most of the rooms of the palace were always kept closed, and I had never entered them.

I followed breathless and with silent steps my invisible guide--I cannot now say where. What endless dark and narrow passages, what long corridors, what silent and solemn audience-chambers and close secret cells I crossed!

Though I could not see my fair guide, her form was not invisible to my mind's eye,--an Arab girl, her arms, hard and smooth as marble, visible through her loose sleeves, a thin veil falling on her face from the fringe of her cap, and a curved dagger at her waist! Methought that one of the thousand and one Arabian Nights had been wafted to me from the world of romance, and that at the dead of night I was wending my way through the dark narrow alleys of slumbering Bagdad to a trysting-place fraught with peril.

At last my fair guide stopped abruptly before a deep blue screen, and seemed to point to something below. There was nothing there, but a sudden dread froze the blood in my heart--methought I saw there on the floor at the foot of the screen a terrible negro eunuch dressed in rich brocade, sitting and dozing with outstretched legs, with a naked sword on his lap. My fair guide lightly tripped over his legs and held up a fringe of the screen. I could catch a glimpse of a part of the room spread with a Persian carpet--some one was sitting inside on a bed--I could not see her, but only caught a glimpse of two exquisite feet in gold-embroidered slippers, hanging out from loose saffron-coloured paijamas and placed idly on the orange-coloured velvet carpet. On one side there was a bluish crystal tray on which a few apples, pears, oranges, and bunches of grapes in plenty, two small cups and a gold-tinted decanter were evidently awaiting the guest. A fragrant intoxicating vapour, issuing from a strange sort of incense that burned within, almost overpowered my senses.

As with trembling heart I made an attempt to step across the outstretched legs of the eunuch, he woke up suddenly with a start, and the sword fell from his lap with a sharp clang on the marble floor.

A terrific scream made me jump, and I saw I was sitting on that camp-bedstead of mine sweating heavily; and the crescent moon looked pale in the morning light like a weary sleepless patient at dawn; and our crazy Meher Ali was crying out, as is his daily custom, "Stand back! Stand back!!" while he went along the lonely road.

Such was the abrupt close of one of my Arabian Nights; but there were yet a thousand nights left.

Then followed a great discord between my days and nights. During the day I would go to my work worn and tired, cursing the bewitching night and her empty dreams, but as night came my daily life with its bonds and shackles of work would appear a petty, false, ludicrous vanity.

After nightfall I was caught and overwhelmed in the snare of a strange intoxication. I would then be transformed into some unknown personage of a bygone age, playing my part in unwritten history; and my short English coat and tight breeches did not suit me in the least. With a red velvet cap on my head, loose paijamas, an embroidered vest, a long flowing silk gown, and coloured handkerchiefs scented with attar, I would complete my elaborate toilet, sit on a high-cushioned chair, and replace my cigarette with a many-coiled narghileh filled with rose-water, as if in eager expectation of a strange meeting with the beloved one.

I have no power to describe the marvellous incidents that unfolded themselves, as the gloom of the night deepened. I felt as if in the curious apartments of that vast edifice the fragments of a beautiful story, which I could follow for some distance, but of which I could never see the end, flew about in a sudden gust of the vernal breeze. And all the same I would wander from room to room in pursuit of them the whole night long.

Amid the eddy of these dream-fragments, amid the smell of henna and the twanging of the guitar, amid the waves of air charged with fragrant spray, I would catch like a flash of lightning the momentary glimpse of a fair damsel. She it was who had saffron-coloured paijamas, white ruddy soft feet in gold-embroidered slippers with curved toes, a close-fitting bodice wrought with gold, a red cap, from which a golden frill fell on her snowy brow and cheeks.

She had maddened me. In pursuit of her I wandered from room to room, from path to path among the bewildering maze of alleys in the enchanted dreamland of the nether world of sleep.

Sometimes in the evening, while arraying myself carefully as a prince of the blood-royal before a large mirror, with a candle burning on either side, I would see a sudden reflection of the Persian beauty by the side of my own. A swift turn of her neck, a quick eager glance of intense passion and pain glowing in her large dark eyes, just a suspicion of speech on her dainty red lips, her figure, fair and slim, crowned with youth like a blossoming creeper, quickly uplifted in her graceful tilting gait, a dazzling flash of pain and craving and esctasy, a smile and a glance and a blaze of jewels and silk, and she melted away. A wild gust of wind, laden with all the fragrance of hills and woods, would put out my light, and I would fling aside my dress and lie down on my bed, my eyes closed and my body thrilling with delight, and there around me in the breeze, amid all the perfume of the woods and hills, floated through the silent gloom many a caress and many a kiss and many a tender touch of hands, and gentle murmurs in my ears, and fragrant breaths on my brow; or a sweetly-perfumed kerchief was wafted again and again on my cheeks. Then slowly a mysterious serpent would twist her stupefying coils about me; and heaving a heavy sigh, I would lapse into insensibility, and then into a profound slumber.

One evening I decided to go out on my horse--I do not know who implored me to stay--but I would listen to no entreaties that day. My English hat and coat were resting on a rack, and I was about to take them down when a sudden whirlwind, crested with the sands of the Susta and the dead leaves of the Avalli hills, caught them up, and whirled them round and round, while a loud peal of merry laughter rose higher and higher, striking all the chords of mirth till it died away in the land of sunset.

I could not go out for my ride, and the next day I gave up my queer English coat and hat for good.

That day again at dead of night I heard the stifled heart-breaking sobs of some one--as if below the bed, below the floor, below the stony foundation of that gigantic palace, from the depths of a dark damp grave, a voice piteously cried and implored me: "Oh, rescue me! Break through these doors of hard illusion, deathlike slumber and fruitless dreams, place me by your side on the saddle, press me to your heart, and, riding through hills and woods and across the river, take me to the warm radiance of your sunny rooms above!"

Who am I? Oh, how can I rescue thee? What drowning beauty, what incarnate passion shall I drag to the shore from this wild eddy of dreams? O lovely ethereal apparition! Where didst thou flourish and when? By what cool spring, under the shade of what date-groves, wast thou born--in the lap of what homeless wanderer in the desert? What Bedouin snatched thee from thy mother's arms, an opening bud plucked from a wild creeper, placed thee on a horse swift as lightning, crossed the burning sands, and took thee to the slave-market of what royal city? And there, what officer of the Badshah, seeing the glory of thy bashful blossoming youth, paid for thee in gold, placed thee in a golden palanquin, and offered thee as a present for the seraglio of his master? And O, the history of that place! The music of the sareng, [ A sort of violin.] the jingle of anklets, the occasional flash of daggers and the glowing wine of Shiraz poison, and the piercing flashing glance! What infinite grandeur, what endless servitude! The slave-girls to thy right and left waved the chamar, [chamar: chowrie, yak-tail.] as diamonds flashed from their bracelets; the Badshah, the king of kings, fell on his knees at thy snowy feet in bejewelled shoes, and outside the terrible Abyssinian eunuch, looking like a messenger of death, but clothed like an angel, stood with a naked sword in his hand! Then, O, thou flower of the desert, swept away by the blood-stained dazzling ocean of grandeur, with its foam of jealousy, its rocks and shoals of intrigue, on what shore of cruel death wast thou cast, or in what other land more splendid and more cruel?

Suddenly at this moment that crazy Meher Ali screamed out: "Stand back! Stand back!! All is false! All is false!!" I opened my eyes and saw that it was already light. My chaprasi came and handed me my letters, and the cook waited with a salam for my orders.

I said: "No, I can stay here no longer." That very day I packed up, and moved to my office. Old Karim Khan smiled a little as he saw me. I felt nettled, but said nothing, and fell to my work.

As evening approached I grew absent-minded; I felt as if I had an appointment to keep; and the work of examining the cotton accounts seemed wholly useless; even the Nizamat [Royalty] of the Nizam did not appear to be of much worth. Whatever belonged to the present, whatever was moving and acting and working for bread seemed trivial, meaningless, and contemptible.

I threw my pen down, closed my ledgers, got into my dog-cart, and drove away. I noticed that it stopped of itself at the gate of the marble palace just at the hour of twilight. With quick steps I climbed the stairs, and entered the room.

A heavy silence was reigning within. The dark rooms were looking sullen as if they had taken offence. My heart was full of contrition, but there was no one to whom I could lay it bare, or of whom I could ask forgiveness. I wandered about the dark rooms with a vacant mind. I wished I had a guitar to which I could sing to the unknown: "O fire, the poor moth that made a vain effort to fly away has come back to thee! Forgive it but this once, burn its wings and consume it in thy flame!"

Suddenly two tear-drops fell from overhead on my brow. Dark masses of clouds overcast the top of the Avalli hills that day.

The gloomy the sooty waters of the Susta were waiting in terrible suspense and in an ominous calm. Suddenly land, water, and sky shivered, and a wild tempest-blast rushed howling through the distant pathless woods, showing its lightning-teeth like a raving maniac who had broken his chains. The desolate halls of the palace banged their doors, and moaned in the bitterness of anguish.

The servants were all in the office, and there was no one to light the lamps. The night was cloudy and moonless. In the dense gloom within I could distinctly feel that a woman was lying on her face on the carpet below the bed--clasping and tearing her long dishevelled hair with desperate fingers. Blood was trickling down her fair brow, and she was now laughing a hard, harsh, mirthless laugh, now bursting into violent wringing sobs, now rending her bodice and striking at her bare bosom, as the wind roared in through the open window, and the rain poured in torrents and soaked her through and through.

All night there was no cessation of the storm or of the passionate cry. I wandered from room to room in the dark, with unavailing sorrow. Whom could I console when no one was by? Whose was this intense agony of sorrow? Whence arose this inconsolable grief?

And the mad man cried out: "Stand back! Stand back!! All is false! All is false!"

I saw that the day had dawned, and Meher Ali was going round and round the palace with his usual cry in that dreadful weather. Suddenly it came to me that perhaps he also had once lived in that house, and that, though he had gone mad, he came there every day, and went round and round, fascinated by the weird spell cast by the marble demon.

Despite the storm and rain I ran to him and asked: "Ho, Meher Ali, what is false?"

The man answered nothing, but pushing me aside went round and round with his frantic cry, like a bird flying fascinated about the jaws of a snake, and made a desperate effort to warn himself by repeating: "Stand back! Stand back!! All is false! All is false!!"

I ran like a mad man through the pelting rain to my office, and asked Karim Khan: "Tell me the meaning of all this!"

What I gathered from that old man was this: That at one time countless unrequited passions and unsatisfied longings and lurid flames of wild blazing pleasure raged within that palace, and that the curse of all the heart-aches and blasted hopes had made its every stone thirsty and hungry, eager to swallow up like a famished ogress any living man who might chance to approach. Not one of those who lived there for three consecutive nights could escape these cruel jaws, save Meher Ali, who had escaped at the cost of his reason.

I asked: "Is there no means whatever of my release?" The old man said: "There is only one means, and that is very difficult. I will tell you what it is, but first you must hear the history of a young Persian girl who once lived in that pleasure-dome. A stranger or a more bitterly heart-rending tragedy was never enacted on this earth."


Just at this moment the coolies announced that the train was coming. So soon? We hurriedly packed up our luggage, as the train steamed in. An English gentleman, apparently just aroused from slumber, was looking out of a first-class carriage endeavouring to read the name of the station. As soon as he caught sight of our fellow-passenger, he cried, "Hallo," and took him into his own compartment. As we got into a second-class carriage, we had no chance of finding out who the man was nor what was the end of his story.

I said: "The man evidently took us for fools and imposed upon us out of fun. The story is pure fabrication from start to finish." The discussion that followed ended in a lifelong rupture between my theosophist kinsman and myself.

***

I stare at the page for some minutes after finishing. Am I like the narrator of the story about the palace, on the verge of going crazy and is Melody a long-lost, elusive exotic beauty who wants to be freed from a prison?

Is there a Meher Ali who would warn me against her?

All I know is that before Monday, she was real and full and alive in her voice, in her body, and most of all in my arms.

Now she's nothing more than a whisper, a two-dimensional memory in my aching head, only able to say and do the things she's said and done.

She's gone from the here to the then and I don't know how to handle it.

I'm not one to chase and I'm not one to cry, as I've said.

Then why these tears and why this urge to go running, running to that enchanted house, with all its flowers and its gems and its beautiful, blonde Melody?

Why the longing to race up the stairs and throw myself in her arms and babble incoherently, say whatever I need to say to have her be mine?

I'm going mad...

I need to stop.

I flip through the pages, scanning without really looking, until a set of lines catches my eye.

"Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence."

Silence is all that I have now, at least from her.

I surpress the impulse to read the letter again and take some NyQuil. Fifteen minutes later, I fall into the deep, dreamless sleep that I so desperately need.

[DaddyTorgo]

damm. Crazy twist there. Interested to see how it plays out!

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by DaddyTorgo

damm. Crazy twist there. Interested to see how it plays out!

Thanks. I'm still figuring that out myself, though I have some ideas.

[Izulde]

It was late when I fell asleep last night, so the NyQuil is still casting a fog about me this morning as I walk into class and take a seat more towards the back. Melody's sitting up near the front, but it's something I only half register.

My dull eyes will only look at Morengay and whatever notes I scribble down this lecture, even though they'll probably be incoherent.

Our professor puts up a map on his overhead and begins his speech.



"This is the state of Italy-Croatia's European possessions after the war with Apuila. My apologies for the uneven outlining, but my red marker was running dry, so I had to hurry to mark the boundaries for you.

As you can see, almost the entire Italian peninsula was now under the control of Mad King Yves I.

This did not mean, however, that the possessions were guaranteed to hold. As I told you last time, Italy-Croatia, having just ended the fight with Apuila, was now in conflict with Karten and the Kingdom of Egypt.

The battle against Karten was going extremely well as the winter months and spring of 1128 arrived, with Krain falling to Yves' forces and the Duchy looking to be on the point of surrender quite soon.

Egypt, however, was proving another matter entirely.

The Caliphate of Egypt, as I said last time, though weakened, was still a prominent force and they were sweeping through the Italian-Croatian Middle Eastern territories with the greatest of ease. In fact, the dual kingdom's soldiers, comprimised largely of the indigenous Arabs of the reason, voluntarily joined Calpih Najmaddin in his crusade, compounding the problem of too few troops in the area for Italy-Croatia.

Even more troubling, the Countess of Taranto and the Bishop of Reggio were the latest to join the anti-Yves cabal, calling for a change in the succession laws to better benefit them. The king quite naturally refused the demand, but it was another sign of tension in the Italian peninsula.

Yet, this was not the worst of it, for rebels in Messina, that troublesome county in Sicily, had actually succeeded in repulsing royal troops sent to put down the insurrection. This emboldened the hearts of those furious with the de Semurs and Yves was forced to summon fresh regiments to squash the rebellion before it could spread further.

Enraged at King Yves's refusal to give in to the demand for succession laws to be changed, Countess Judith de Hautville of Taranto declared war against her liege, swearing that she would rather die than be forced to serve her family's mortal enemy.

By April 1128, Karten was almost defeated and the Caliphate of Egypt had re-taken Jaffa, Ascalon and Beersheeb, putting themselves in a much stronger position to again be a Middle Eastern power and they continued to march down towards Cairo, the de Semur crown province in the region.

Unfortunately, Taranto was still at war against the de Semurs and towards the end of the month, the Archbishop of Toscana, originally one of King Yves I's greatest supporters and strongest vassals militarily speaking, joined the Countess of Taranto in open rebellion.

May brought open revolution from the Archbishop of Modena and the Duke of Lombardia. Control over the peninsula was running extremely low and Yves didn't have anywhere near the number of soldiers to deal with a kingdom that was quickly collapsing all around him. In addition the province of Zeta was in revolt.

The hot days of summer brought no respite for the de Semurs on any front, for the Duchy of Karten held out longer than expected and the Republic of Genoa joined those vassals who sought to crush Yves. In desparation, the monarch appointed the Hauteville Count of Consaza the new Duke of Apuila, but the gesture did little to quell the inferno that was raging across Italy.

Alas, the final death knell seemed to be rung late in July when Ludwig de Semur, the Duke of Calabria and Count of Siracusa, declared for civil war as well. Now his own family was turning on the beleagured king who still believed in his own divinity and he was powerless to stop it.

Modena fell to the Archbishop of Toscana in August and the troops sent to Zeta to put down the rebellion were ordered sent home by the Pope in Rome, who had long since ceased to regard King Yves I as an acceptable ally.

A small silver lining appeared in November, when the Caliphate of Egypt, beset by succession difficulties, offered a white peace. King Yves immediately accepted, but by this time, Cairo and Gizeh had come under Egyptian control and the capital province of Bologna itself was beseiged by the Archbishop of Toscana.

Bologna fell just before Christmas 1128 and it was a gloomy holiday season for Yves and what few of his loyal followers remained. Forced out of the capital, what was left of the court retreated to Croatia and hid there while awaiting the outcome of the war, an outcome that looked increasingly worse and worse for the de Semurs still allied with the monarch.

Ferrara and Mantua fell to the Archbishops of Toscana and Modena respectively before January was done and the court decided to begin making offers of peace behind Yves's back.

But what those were and their outcomes... will wait until Friday!"

I'm utterly depressed as I leave the room. First Melody, now Yves.

Does anyone ever achieve victory when its most important, or is the best that we can hope for to have joy for a little while and then lose it?

My head's starting to hurt. I think it's been 6 hours.

More NyQuil, then.

[Izulde]

I pass in and out of a fog over the next couple days, using my clear moments to get my schoolwork done, the hazy hours to lie on my bed and stare blankly at the ceiling. I'm getting as bad as Caveman, but then again, I've never allowed myself to wallow in sorrow, not even when my grandmother died.

It only seems right to do that now.

Wednesday morning finds me alert after going to bed at 7 the night before. I'm glad for it, because the last thing I want is for Melody to see me acting out of it.

Morengay begins and my wandering thoughts end.

"When we left off last time, I mentioned that the council determined to make peace offers without Yves being informed of the matter. More specifically, parley requests were sent to the Duke of Karten and the Archbishops of Toscana and Modena.

The Archbishop of Toscana accepted peace, agreeing to preserve the status quo. In attention, the Archbishop of his own iniative agreed to pay the Kingdom of Italy-Croatia 729 florins to pay for war damages as a gesture of piety and goodwill. This noblesse oblige did much to raise the people's opinion of Ramiero Montefeltro, who was the Archbishop. Remember kids, to win friends and silence your enemies, flash the cash!"

The professor continues after the appreciative chuckle that passes through the class.

"Of course, I should add that the raising of the Duke of Spoleto and Roger Borsa de Hauteville's armies in favor of Yves did much to make the Archbishop eager to end the war. Those forces marched under loyal banners were the ultimate irony of the civil war: A German Duke and a Norman Count were supporting a French king who ruled Italians and Croatians.

Less accomodating were the Archbishop of Modena and the Duke of Karten, who refused the peace offers outright, leading to a continuation of the conflict.

In March, the Bishop of Reggio declared war on Yves as well, but the embattled king resolved to fight on. Privately, the court requested aid from the Dukes of Slavonia and Rashka in the Croatian lands and they readily agreed to support their liege, marching their troops towards Karten.

This happy news was counterbalanced by the Diocese Bishop, Fadrique de Semur, denouncing King Yves I as a crazed heretic, a lunatic who would burn in hell before a throng of religious faithful in Bologna. He left the capital that very day and found asylum with the Bishop of Orbetello, preferring to be in the Pope's lands than serve one who believed himself to be the Messiah.

It was the second major family defection, but this did not trouble the king, for he simply dismissed Fadrique as a traitor to the House of de Semur and he himself as the head of it. 17 year old Guillaume Babone, already considered a genius in ecclesiatical circles even at a young age, who would go on to have a brilliant career, was appointed the new Bishop of Italy-Croatia.

In April, the combined armies of the Duke of Spoleto and Roger Borsa de Hauteville recaptured Taranto and Yves regained the county in the peace negotiations that followed. The two men then marched on to Reggio, hoping to suppress the rebellions in the south entirely.

Peace offers came from the Archbishop of Modena in that same month, but they were little more than extortion demands that ordered the de Semurs to pay the entireity of the treasury in order to end hostilities. Not even the decidedly doveish court would go along with this and so the offers were rejected out of hand.

Also, Palermo fell to the 8,200 strong army of the Republic of Genoa in April and the Duke of Karten proposed to yield the claims he had on Yves's land and in addition to pay reparations. This time, the court sided with the angry monarch, as eagerness to punish Karten for its earlier refusal consumed Louis Castle.

May brought the fall of Messina to Genoa and an emissary from the Pope who demanded that Yves repent of his heresy and renounce himself as the Second Coming. Although initially inclined to "hang the traitorous dog from the false Pope, when I -am- the true Christ, Vicar and all!", the more reasonable members of the court convinced the furious king to put in an appearance at the most prestigious church in Bologna, for they feared what excommunication would mean to Italy-Croatia's already precarious situation.

Apparently this answer did not please God, for the day after the messenger was sent away, May 30th, 1129, King Yves I was found dead in his bed.

A regency council was now formed around the 9 year old Louis de Semur, who would not be allowed to take the throne for another 7 years, because just like getting your driver's license, you couldn't be king until you were 16."

Another laugh ripples through the class and for the first time in days, I join in. It's not really all that funny, but we need to laugh, because this is one depressing story.

"King Charles of France sent an alliance offer to the regents and they immediately accepted, wanting the protection of a powerful friend in case things got worse, which they looked ready to given the civil wars already raging.

Two days after Yves I's death, the Duke of Karten sent another offer of peace, including the County of Istria in the settlement. While the council would have preferred Veglia, which directly bordered the Croatian half of the kingdom, the regents recognized that they needed to reduce their enemies as much as possible and so they accepted the deal.

Two weeks later, Marshal Louis Grimbraldi scored an unexpected victory, routing the Archbishop of Modena's troops in their capital province of Parma despite being outnumbered 400 to approximately 1,000. News of this triumph spread quickly throughout the two kingdoms and the people began to believe that with the death of Yves, peace and glory were at last on the horizon for Italy-Croatia again.

The joy was short-lived, however, for shortly thereafter, the Duke of Spoleto and Roger Borsa suffered an embarrassing defeat against the Bishop of Reggio, which led the Bishop to ask for a white peace. The regency council reluctantly agreed, still aware of the 8,000 Genoan troops running around.

By October 1129, the Archbishop of Modena was defeated and stripped of all titles and funds in the most punative peace settlement yet.

But there were still more rebels to deal with, in particular the mighty Republic of Genoa.

Fortunately, the Kingdom of France had declared war on Genoa in support of Italy-Croatia and were making major headway in Genoan territory, so the troops freshly victorious in Parma marched on Genoa proper, intent on ridding the kingdoms of the republic Louis I had hated so much.

In December, the turning point of the civil war was reached when a combined French and Italian-Croatian soldiers, numbering over 15,000 troops altogether, captured Genoa proper. The Republic was now in deep danger.

At long last, on May 30th, 1129, Genoa was defeated, wholly and completely. The Governor of Genoa surrendered all of his provinces to the regency council, who in a surprising bit of generosity, allowed him to still style himself the Governor of Genoa in recognition of the heroic campaign he'd fought before being caught between France and Italy-Croatia.

There was still the Duchy of Calabria to contend with, but that was only a minor difficulty.

A far greater task lay ahead for the dual kingdoms and the de Semurs: To re-organize the feudal heirarchy and restore the boy Louis's reputation before he assumed the throne.

And that comes..."

"Next time!" chants the class.

"Right! See you Friday!" Morengay beams.

Wow. What an incredible ending. The de Semurs pulled it out, even though it seemed to take Yves dying to do it.

Maybe there's hope for me after all.

Deciding to be a little more like my old self, I nod to Melody on the way out.

She turns away.

A pang shoots through my heart.

Not today.

Will there ever be a day?

I don't know. I hope so.

[Izulde]

I received an email from Prof Morengay today with our midterm exam question.

"Hello students!

In the interest of saving as much time for lecture as possible, I'm distributing your midterm exam question via email. It will be a take-home exam and answers will be due next Friday at the start of class.

Your exam question is:

What individual or event do you feel most contributed to the meteoric rise of the de Semurs from minor Counts of Chalon to an Adriatic powerhouse as the Kings of Italy-Croatia?

Write a five-page paper in which you defend your choice. Cite two sources, one of which may be either lecture notes or your textbook, but not both. Note: Wikipedia is not allowed! The best papers will also acknowledge other possiblities and explain why those events or persons should not be regarded as the best and your choice should.

Good luck!

Prof. Morengay"

That's a tough question. It's one I'll have to think about... At least it'll take my mind off of Melody for a bit, especially since I have a couple other midterms coming in this next week too.

OOC Note: You, the readers, can feel free to tackle this question too, since you're technically Nick's classmates!

[Izulde]

With Caveman's help, I was able to get the paper done by today, Monday, and so I'll be able to turn it early, leaving me free for the rest of the week.

I'm feeling smug about it as I look at the freshmen, still bleary-eyed from the weekend, frantically discussing the paper and wondering how they're going to get the midterm done and omigawd it's soooo unfair that Morengay put this on us when every other professor is demanding work too.

They'll learn. They'll learn how to operate the system after a semester or two. Either that or they'll flunk out, transfer somewhere else, whatever. I don't care, as I'm not going to see any of them after this semester anyway.

Now one of my fellow upperclassmen on the other hand....

My neck tingles with a knowing that she's in the room. It's an instinct that I've acquired over these past several weeks, but I don't look in her direction. Good thing too, because I don't feel Melody's eyes on me. To look would be to lose.

Fortunately, Morengay ambles in as he always does, looking his usual sunny Monday self. I swear, he must get laid on Sunday or something, to be so cheerful this early in the week.

“Good morning, class! When we left off last time, Yves I had died a short time ago and a regency council was once more in charge of Italy-Croatia while the two kingdoms waited for Louis II to come of age.

As I may have mentioned last time, the first order of business was for the regency council to re-organize Italy-Croatia to try and restore the de Semur reputation following Yves's disasterous rule. Not only that, but to bring order and put down the rebellious Duke of Calabria, Ludwig de Semur, who betrayed his family not only by revolting, but by declaring himself for the hated German way of life.

Although it was widely expected that titles would be handed out en masse`, only a few unimportant counties were given to courtiers and the lone Ducal elevation was that of Hugues de Hauteville, who revered the French de Semur culture and who was steadfastly loyal as the Count of Benveneto. He was raised to Duke of Modena, albeit without vassals of his own.

These minimal concessions led to great indignation on the part of the courtiers in Bologna and the vassal nobles, such that the ruling family's reputation improved little, indeed if even at all.

The council shrugged off the fury and the revolts and rebellions that plagued Italy-Croatia throughout the summer and fall, instead concentrating on liberating those provinces taken by Calabria and the Republic of Genoa, those former vassals now allied to one another.

A shrewd plan was adopted, whereby a small force was sent to attack Siracusa, the Duke of Calabria's home. This diversionary tactic succeeded masterfully, for Ludwig, upon hearing of report of the invasion, hastily rushed to Syracuse to repel the invaders.

Meanwhile, two larger Croatian armies swooped down upon Taranto. By the time Duke Ludwig realized what had happened, Taranto was once again in Italian-Croatian hands and the combined Croatian forces were on the march to Siracusa.

As you might expect, the larger Italy-Croatia army crushed the smaller Calabrian force in the open field, but the siege is where it gets interesting.

According to legend, the ghost of King Louis I the Great appeared before Ludwig de Semur and declared the following:

“You have fouled your noble blood and tainted yourself with Teutonic love. No traitor, no blasphemer to our House, our name and our kingdoms shall be allowed to prosper. This day you lose your title, your lands, and your very life and you shall be dragged screaming to the darkest regions of Hell, where you will pay homage to your new master, he who has committed the gravest of offenses and the worst of all treacheries, that against God himself.”

It's said that at that precise moment, lightning struck the Duke of Calabria and when the brightness cleared, there was only a scorch mark.

The body was never found.

The very next day, March 8th, 1031, Syracuse surrendered all of Ludwig's former titles to the boy king and his regents.

When word got out of this legend, the kingdoms of Europe, Christian and Muslim alike, feared and respected the dual Kingdom like never since the time of Louis I himself. It was whispered everywhere that the great monarch would return in the body of his grandson, Louis II and that when the boy came of age, Italy-Croatia would grow even larger, to become the single greatest power in all the known world.

Now whether or not you believe the legend, and indeed, it seems silly to us today to believe, in the Middle Ages, people were much more superstitious and willing to believe stories of that nature and believe this legend they did.

But along with this fear and respect was still scorn for the regency council itself, whom all considered to be weak and mere figureheads that would be swept away as soon as Louis came of age.

Quick to react to this criticism, the council sought once again to restore its reputation through the gifting of titles. Unfortunately, this ruse was very easily seen through and so the results were once again much to the council's discouragement.

Another piece of bad news for the regents happened a week before Ludwig de Semur's demise and Syracuse's surrender.

Pope Alaracio I successfully warred against the Archbishop of Toscana, using the causus belli of Toscana's rebellion against the de Semurs to make good his claim on the county of Siena. This not only grew the direct Papal domains, but interfered with the council's plans to eventually reunite the Italian peninsula under the de Semur banner.

But the pontiff and the de Semurs were not the only one who had designs on Siena. The de Hauteville Duke of Salerno also thirsted for the county and declared war on the aggressive pope in hopes of obtaining it for himself.

The regency council chose to stay out of the squabble, preferring to leave any eventual decisions concerning Siena to Louis II when he came of age. Instead, they ordered comission of a monastary in Bologna to give thanks for the victory over the blood-traitor Ludwig de Semur, as well as commenced other building projects around the two kingdoms.

But peace was not to last. An old enemy had re-emerged in Croatia and was threatening the eastern kingdom.

Who that was and what they were doing will be answered... next time!”

We all groan at the cliffhanger, but nonetheless make our gradual exits.

Gradual, that is, except for Melody.

She darts out the door in a blur of pale blue, white, and the glimpsed yellow of her hair.

Hair I used to kiss. Hair I used to touch. Hair that in the short time we'd slept together, I'd gotten to know as well as my own.

Will I ever know it again?

[Izulde]

“Do you remember Rachel?”

I check Caveman's face as he passes me the hookah pipe and the question. It's calm, slightly distant and philosophical like it usually is when he smokes, so I nod as I take the pipe.

“Sure. What about her?”

“Those were some great times I had with her, no?”

Caveman's face sags with the weight of memories as he turns his head, gazing out the window at our neighbor's large, precisely cut backyard.

“Definitely. I mean, I know a lot of the guys wonder why you don't try and hook up with anyone else, but I can understand it.”

And I could.

Caveman started dating Rachel a month after he transferred here. She was a Dutch girl, slender, with the most fantastically spiraling blonde curls you ever saw and dark blue eyes that seemed to understand everything they looked at. They would spend hours sitting on one of the couches in the common room or in the basement, talking about literature, philosophy, history, stuff like that.

We were all happy for him, especially since it was during his pledging semester, which is simultaneously the most fun and the most stressful time you'll ever have in a fraternity. Rachel grounded him, made Caveman the closest thing to a normal human being he would ever be.

But then....

“I never was one to talk much. You know that. But around Rachel, it was different. It was like all my thoughts, my theories, my dreams finally had an outlet and I could pour everything into her that I'd been holding in for so long. I felt complete for the first time in my life, like this giant void inside of me was filled and I could at last, finally, be completely happy.”

Caveman takes a hit on the hookah after this tirade, having retrieved the pipe back during my spaceout. We've been smoking for a good hour now and things are definitely looking a little off-kilter.

I force myself to pay attention and respond.

“Well, yeah, and I get that, but at the same time, I can also see where the other guys are coming from. I mean shit, dude, you're not a bad-looking guy. You're smart, you're freaking hilarious when you let yourself go enough to crack a joke, and you're fun to be around. You just need to open yourself up more.”

He glares at me through the smoke of his next exhale as he slides me the pipe.

“Don't fucking patronize me with that crap, Nick. You know I hate that shit. The fuck you think you are, some kind of therapist?”

Oops. Time to backtrack.


“Sorry, man. Look, all I'm saying is, just think about it. I know Becky from the Mu Delts thinks you're worth checking out, but no sorority chick is going to put herself out for a guy, especially not a fellow Greek unless he's like Terry.”

I waggle my eyebrows as I suck on the pipe, my grin Groucho Marx in style as I exhale it, “Hell, even -I- don't get the kind of play Terry did.”

Caveman laughs and shakes his head.

“Too true. Anyway, regarding Becky, she's well... she's not like that girl you're seeing... what's her name?”

Ugh. He didn't just go there.

“Melody”, I mutter, watching as he coils the pipe up and puts the hookah back in his closet, “And we're not seeing each other anymore.”

His shocked eyes dart to me, his jaw hung open.

“What? What the fuck? Why not?!”

So I tell him. I tell him about everything, the dates, the sex, the letter. Everything except the jewelry room. That I can't betray her by telling anyone, not even Caveman, who's as silent as well, a cave, about that sort of thing.

When I finish, he nods, looking thoughtful.

“It's pretty obvious what you have to do you know.”

“What?”

“You only asked her to do something at the very beginning, before you guys started going out. Everything since then has been all her to you. Take the initative and ask her to do something. Hell, I could even help you with a few ideas.”

“Um... thanks, but no thanks on the ideas.” Caveman's love-related schemes are legendary on campus, both for their epic scope and, in most cases, their epic failure. “In fact, I don't even know for sure about this whole taking initative thing. I mean, hell, -she- broke up with -me-. It's not like I'm the one who broke up with her and has to prove he's still interested.”

“Oh but you do!” cries Caveman, leaping up and grabbing a pillow from his bed, “You do! This proud girl, this ice princess, this rich beyond all compare young woman, has confessed to you, -in writing-, that she loves you. Have -you- told her that you love her? Have you shown anything at all beyond the oh, hey thanks for showing me all this stuff Melody and I'll have a cup of sex on the side please, thanks?

She's been showing you herself, baring her body, her soul, her very Melodyness and you're just sitting on your ass and cheerfully taking it all in!”

I sigh. Great, he's got that gleam in his eye, the one where he'll keep prattling on and won't shut up until I just agree with whatever he says.

“All right, man. I'll start showing her more of myself.”

Seeing his eyes brighten, I hastily add, “No, I won't need any help. I've already got some ideas in mind. I'll let you know how it goes after I try them out.”

I speed out of the room before he can bombard me with more questions or wise advice.

...I have to admit, he's helped me see something I hadn't before. I -have- been selfish... so caught up in reacting to Melody's class status and snobby ideas that I've never taken the opportunity to show her me as she's shown me her.

In a way, I've been just as narrow-minded as I've accused her of being, though it does make me wonder two things:

Why was she interested in me in the first place?

And how do I show her myself when I've never thought about myself enough to get an idea of who I really am?

And that's when it hits me.

I forgot to turn in the midterm Monday after class.

...I'll do it Wednesday.

[Izulde]

I put the thoughts of myself out of my head for now. I mean, you don't go 22 years of your life without thinking about who you are and then all of a sudden discover yourself in a day. That just isn't how it works, I don't think.

Besides, I've got enough to think about already with the midterm crunch, the last one I'll ever have, as I don't see graduate school in my future.

At least I have Morengay's done.

He's setting up shop at his lectern now, humming something that sounds like the Jeopardy theme. A few minutes later,

"Friday! Two more days until the midterm's due! Some of you have handed them in to me early, which was nice, but you won't get a better grade just because you turned in ahead of time."

The by now standard chuckle comes from the class as he grins and shuffles his notes.

"But in any case, when we ended class last time, I told you that a familiar enemy had arisen again and was threatening the eastern, or Croatian, half of Italy-Croatia.

That opponent was none other than the newly resurgent caliphate of Egypt. After having been trampled on by Louis the Great, the caliphs had gone into hiding and quietly restored their power base.

Now they were fully reborn and were, at this time in 1131, attacking the Duchy of Zara, one of de Semur vassals. The regency council, aghast at the idea that Egypt might undo everything that the mighty monarch had done, declared war posthaste and set about freeing Croatia from the revived menace.

Unfortunately, the province of Split fell before the Usora regiment could get there, but this was to be the least of the Dual Kingdom's worries, for a far more deadly poison injected itself into Italy-Croatia.

Regicide, or the killing of kings.

Yep, that's right, folks. The still minor Louis was assassinated by none other than his own relative, Spymistress Eleonore de Semur, who, being married to a Premyslid, sought to gain greater power for the Premyslid faction and to encourage her own husband to be promoted as Marshal by getting rid of the young boy, who showed a strong penchant for following in his grandfather's footsteps.

What Eleonore hadn't counted on was the new king, King Robert I, youngest son of Louis the Great, brother to the ill-fated Yves I.

Robert immediately ordered Eleonore's execution for the discovered murder of Louis, decreed that in the naming of Italian-Croatian kings ever after, the next Louis would begin with III, even though the child monarch had not yet reached maturity and his title, and finally, stripped all the Premyslids of their court positions.

He further stated, and I quote: "The bad blood of the Premyslids shall no more be permitted to occupy a high rank at court. Those that remain will be allowed to live out their lives here as courtiers, but no more effort shall be made to perpetuate them. They and their race shall eventually cease to be in the sacred halls of the de Semur dynasty."

Thus, it was a de Semur that brought about the ruin of the Premyslids and won the Jimenez family final victory in their long-running feud."

Morengay stops to drink some water and put a picture up on the overhead.



"Robert unfortunately suffered from very premature balding, as you can see here from his coronation portrait, when he was 19.

Hairless though he may have been, the young king's ruthlessness in dealing with the Spymistress Eleonore and the attached Premyslid dynasty showed that he had iron in his veins. He also displayed considerable awareness of the faction fighting that went on in previous reigns by dictating that no one royal family would occupy more than one position in court.

Having dealt with internal troubles, Robert now turned his attention to the Egyptians, summoning the Bologna regiment and marching to Croatia himself.

By February 1132, Split was back in de Semur hands. More importantly, Robert, recognizing that, much like Yves, he did not have the administrative talents to rule such a vast personal domain, began distributing titles to the men in court, save for, of course, the Premyslids.

Although the new king kept most of the territory still in his personal hands, he gifted enough counties so that some measure of order could be maintained within the two kingdoms.

Finally, in August, Robert had all of Croatia back in de Semur hands. Although there were still some Egyptian regiments in the country, they were demoralized, having been beaten back repeatedly by the good king, who showed considerable skill and valor in leading armies, much like Louis the Great did.

Leaving one regiment behind to patrol Croatia, Robert I took the Bologna army and the Usora troops with him to North Africa, vowing to once and for all eradicate the Egyptians and avenge the memories of his father and his nephew.

It was this heroic and pious effort that made many of the revolts that were so troublesome in Yves I's time finally cease, for they saw in Robert a strong leader and indeed, he captured Gizeh quite easily in the spring of 1133.

Having established his reputation and further cementing it by declaring that the rebellious Duke of Spoleto would be brought back into the kingdom at the point of a sword, Robert sent couriers to search for a bride, even as he marched on Cairo, that one-time jewel of Italian-Croatian North Africa.

He found one in the summer, Princess Krystyna Piast, youngest daughter of the King of Poland at 16 years old, which was legal age now and then in Europe, in case any of you guys feel like exploring the younger side of life."

As the class chuckles, the prof changes pictures.



"Not exactly the prettiest Queen in the history of the world, but the marriage further helped solidify young Robert's place in the world and, more importantly, she brought in over 300 florins for a dowry, money desperately needed in a treasury that was running startlingly low because of these military excursions.

And successful those expeditions were fast becoming. Cairo fell to Robert in December and it would be a hotly contested city for the following year and then some while the holy war waged on. In January 1135, the Council of Ten at Venice and the Duke of Karten, impressed by Robert I's piety and the tales arriving from the Middle East of this new king's military prowess, formally applied to become Robert's vassals.

Robert, as you can imagine, proudly accepted. Not only was Karten finally restored to the Italian-Croatian banner, but there were few provinces richer than Venice, which also had a proud tradition of republicanism and independence. For the Venetians to place themselves under King Robert's aegis meant that the de Semurs were once more established as -the- South European power.

Despite these early triumphs and despite the late summer return to the Archbishophoric of Toscana to the Dual Kingdoms, the advance was halted when Nassaridin, the King of Egypt, hired mercaneries from all across the kingdom to throw back the Christian assault. Thus, Robert was temporarily thrown back from El-Arish and for a moment, Cairo looked like it would fall back into Egyptian hands.

But then a single arrow, from a young man history calls Paris of Cairo, landed in the heel of the Muslim commander. That notable then tripped and fell, where he was trampled by an onrushing horde of Italian-Croatian defenders. Thus, were the Egyptians scattered and thus was Cairo saved... for the time being!

Returning to Bologna to replenish the royal regiment, Robert ordered the regiments that he sent to Cairo to stand there in defense of the city until such time as he could return to Africa.

Alas for our heroes, Chancellor Ramiro Jimenez, eager to gain even more glory for his family name, rushed forward without waiting for his king. As a result of his rashness, a 3,500-strong Italian-Croatian army was crushed. Buoyed by this victory, the Egyptians pressed on, now swelled to 5,300 themselves.

They were soon set to overrun Cairo and this time, May 1136, there would be no Paris of Cairo.

Indeed, though Robert I made repeated offers of peace to the now regent council of the Egyptian child-caliph, the previous ruler having died gloriously in battle, that council turned deaf ears to the messengers.

Cairo was once again doomed to be in Egyptian hands.

Would Robert take this lying down? And would he summon forth as many of the massive resources of the dual kingdoms as he could muster to take that city, that city which became so sacrosanct in his eyes, back?

And if he did, what price would he pay in the other areas of his lands?

The answers to all these questions and more..... on.... Friday!"

This time I remember to turn in my paper.

This time, Melody's normal going out the door, but I won't chase her. All things on Friday sound good to me.

[Izulde]

There's a crisp bite to the air this morning, the kind of cool breeze that only comes on certain autumn days.

I love the fall. The changing leaves, football, Halloween, apple cider... Wait a minute, that's something about me that I know is me!

I've got a starting point, at least and from there, everything else will come. After all, I'm Nick, not Caveman.

So I'll catch Melody after class.

Fortunately, she's there today, dressed in a white blouse and skirt that's pleasantly short, a red sweater tossed over her shoulders with the kind of perfection that only the most preppy girls can pull off.

As I'm taking my seat, occasionally glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, Morengay lumbers in and takes the lectern.

"Weekend's almost here! I know you're all looking forward to whatever it is you do when you're free from class, but first, we've got go to with King Robert I of Italy-Croatia while he figures out what to do about the Egyptians.

As I said last time, there was a choice for Robert to make: Throw everything at Cairo in an attempt to liberate it again or fight a defensive war until attrition forced the Egyptian regents or the caliph, when he came of age, to ask for a peace.

Robert, being a de Semur and the son of Louis the Great, made the decision you might expect him to.

He summoned virtually all of the regiments in his personal domains and, at great expense to the treasury, marched on Cairo. The city was once more in de Semur hands by mid-March 1137.

With his Grand Armee` largely intact, King Robert I took the point position and continued further on into Egyptian territory, consumed with the desire to become the greatest de Semur king in history, a distinction he believed would be his if he could at last 'vanquish the Muslim thorn', as one poet later put it.

8,500 strong Italian-Croatian troops made up this massive army and with those numbers, they quickly overwhelmed the Egyptian resistance, taking Ascalon and Beersheeb by June in a lightning campaign reminiscent of Louis the Great's Egyptian military expedition.

A critical victory occured in September, when Robert's army captured Hebron, an extremely well-fortified county that was a vital part of the Egyptian caliphate.

The opportunity for even greater glory happened the day after Robert occupied Hebron. The Knights of Solomon, a French order of holy knights, came to the Italian-Croatian king, requesting that they be allowed rule of Hebron to serve as a bastion for Christendom in the Muslim lands.

King Robert immediately accepted and he was praised throughout Europe for his piety and his belief in the holy mission. Although I have to say, between you and me, I don't think religion was so much a concern of Robert's. I think it was more that he recognized that by giving the Knights of Solomon Hebron, he was depriving the Egyptians of one of their most important territories, making the war that much easier.

Of course, the Egyptians could have warred against these new rulers in Hebron, but that would've meant a two-front war, and as those of you who might be students of military history in this class know, a two-front war is not successful too often."

Morengay sips his water while the class laughs a bit.

"In late October, the Egyptian capital province of Tiberias fell to Robert and it seemed there would be no more hope for the mortal enemy of Italy-Croatia to survive. Indeed, Robert, now in his mid-20s and already a legendary figure in Europe, pressed on, vowing to wipe out every last soldier in the caliphate.

Two more territories, including Tripoli, became Italian-Croatian lands by January 1138.

But the Egyptians were not resting on their laurels. Hearing of Robert's grand army, they stole away to Croatia and began occupying lands in the eastern half of the dual kingdoms while Robert was away in North Africa.

When the king heard of this, he was outraged, but as he had superior numbers and many of his Croatian counties had extremely strong defenses, he elected to concentrate on finishing off the Egyptian homelands before returning to Europe.

And finish them off he did, as the last native Egyptian province surrendered on June 18, 1138, in the city of Eliat.

With this matter well in hand, Robert commanded his regiments to sail posthaste to Croatia, using whatever means necessary to secure ships. There were some pretty sketchy methods used to these ends, including bribery, murder, blackmail, and other such fun things. If you'd like to read about it, I can recommend Constantine Riggio's book, Holy Ships, Unholy Men, which is rather critical of Robert's Great Crusade, as it would later be called.

Riggio, although a modern-day historian, is not the only one who found issue with Robert's Crusade. Phillipe de Semur, grandson of Louis the Great by way of Arnaud and King Robert's nephew, declared his independance shortly after Eliat fell. He was angry with the fiscal irresponisiblity of his uncle's campaign and swore that when he was king, things would be different.

For Phillipe was also next in line for the throne, as Queen Krystyana had given Robert three daughters, but no sons. Not a good situation in a land that was strictly patriarchal in terms of who the absolute ruler was! In other words, no penis, no play."

The shocked gasps from the girls is balanced by the hilarious laughter from us guys. Every time I think I'm about to fall asleep during Morengay's lectures as he talks about military campaigns, he comes back with a joke to keep me awake.

"At long last, on June 15th, 1139, the Egyptians were once and for all defeated, the last Croatian holding, that of Hum, joyfully returning to the de Semur personal lands.

The streets of the city were awash in celebration, as the people cried, "Long live King Robert. Long Live the Holy Warrior!" The banners of Italy-Croatia flew from every building and drinking and feasting lasted long into the night, not unlike what you guys will be doing this weekend.

It was following this liberation that Robert acquired the nickname history would ever after know him as.

First, there was Louis the Great, then Yves the Mad, and now they had Robert the Holy Warrior. Though again, the nickname they gave Robert is, to me, slightly hypocritical.

We'll stop early today so you can all turn in your mid-terms."

In the shuffle of people and papers after Morengay's announcement, I see Melody slipping for the door.

I dash over and tap her on the shoulder.

She turns, looking at me expressionlessly.

"Hey! Listen, you want to go for a walk?"

"...All right."

Her voice is wary, as are her eyes. This might not be the best time, but Caveman's convinced me that I need to do it.

We go in silence out of the building and I lead her down a side road, away from the congestion of the main path of campus. On this trail, the trees are at their most brilliant, red and orange, gold and gleaming from the morning dew.

"I love fall", I begin, "You've got the changing colors of the leaves, football--"

"Stop it, Nick!"

I blink and stare at her. Her lips are in a thin, tight line, like her teeth are clenched.

"Just stop it! Don't do this... Don't just all of a sudden start talking to me about yourself and what you like! Stop it!"

"...I don't get it. Why? I mean, you love me..."

Tears glisten in her eyes as the anger goes out of her face, replaced by a sorrow so sweet, it makes me want to cry too.

"Please, Nick. Don't do this..." She's whispering now, her voice soft and fragile in a way that's not like her.

I touch her cheek. She doesn't pull away as I reply in a low voice of my own, "Why not? I love you too... and I mean it."

It's then she pulls away, her tears turning into choked sobs. I continue staring in confusion.

She raises her hand and all the freshness, all the beauty goes out of the morning, the autumn, the everything.

There's only the cold wind, her loud, unnaturally echoing sobs, and the urge to scream, to rip out my heart and throw it in the sky, to some place where there's no pain, no awful reality that kills you to look it in the face.

Hard truth glitters, an icy truth that freezes me and I hear her, not next to me, but from far away.

"I'm engaged...."

[Cap Ologist]

damn you and your slow pace of updating.

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by Cap Ologist

damn you and your slow pace of updating.

Sorry But better slow than not at all!

[Cap Ologist]

that was code for I'm enjoying it, please update more frequently.

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by Cap Ologist

that was code for I'm enjoying it, please update more frequently.

Haha okay, thanks.

Unfortunately, I can't promise a faster update pace. I've got some stuff I wanted to do this weekend and then my mom's coming to visit next week, so it may be another week, week and a half before I get to updating.

[MrBug708]

Hiya Jester!

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by MrBug708

Hiya Jester!

Jestor was actually my original FOFC name too (I think...), but then I lost the password or something.

[TonyR]

The updates are far and few between, but a great read nonetheless.
Keep it up.

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by TonyR

The updates are far and few between, but a great read nonetheless.
Keep it up.

Thanks. I definitely will.

[Izulde]

"....You're what?"

"I'm engaged."

She repeats it with a small spark of her familiar fire and deficiance. Some men might back down and just accept it for what it is, but I'm angry too. Angry, shocked, and something else that I can't quite describe.

"Was this before or after you fucked me?"

Her face turns haughty, the fury in her eyes matching my own.

"After. It was last week, if you must know."

...What? What the fuck is this girl on?

"Last week?! What the hell, Melody? You write to me that you love me and you're breaking up with me... and then like two weeks later, you get engaged to some jackass?! You don't know a damn thing about love."

"And you don't understand anything about my life!" she snaps, light blue eyes turning stormy dark, "I said, you can't provide for me in the way that I'm used to and so I needed someone who can.... And he's not a jackass, not really, anyway."

I throw my arms up, feeling irritation rising up with that anger. When the hell is she going to get off the class bit?

"And what, your family's money isn't enough? Sure, you said you have a brother, but it's not like he's going to hog it all."

"But he is! He's going to inherit all of my mother's money and half of my father's. I'll be poor, don't you see?"

The terror in her eyes at the idea of being poor sobers me. We all have our phobias and maybe poverty is hers.

I take a breath, exhaling slowly. Time to bring this back down to a more rational level, a level that's more like us.

"Who is he, anyway?"

"His name's Chet. He goes to Yale."

Heh, Yale. Why am I not surprised? And Chet... sounds like a limp-wristed guy's name, if you know what I mean. But still....

"Why aren't you at Yale or Harvard or Princeton or one of those places anyway? I mean, you're smart, you've obviously got connections... Why this shitty D-3 public school in the middle of nowhere?"

I'm rewarded with a small sliver of a smile, one that would pass for a grin or a smirk on anyone else.

"Because when you belong to the class that I do, you get tired of the seeing the same people all the time. There's no freshness, no novelty. I was stifled and I needed someplace to breathe, so I thought, what better than a public school far away from all that?

I spent the summer my junior year looking at state schools all across the country, concentrating on the ones with the best literature programs, because I wanted to be challenged while I enjoyed myself. Cost wasn't a concern as you know and neither was applying, so getting accepted was easy. This school has the top public school international literature program in the country."

I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. It sounds so much like the stereotypical poor little rich girl going off to the slums and that's so not like the Melody I've come to know, with her pride in her family's status, in her own status.

"It was different for me. My family's not exactly rolling in money, so I had to stay here in my home state and this was the school I liked best out of all of them."

She nods, going quiet for a few moments. In that window, I see an opportunity to ask a question that's been bothering me for a while now.

"Why me, anyway?"

Her smile blossoms, but there's a sweet sadness in there as well.

"Oh, Nick... who can answer that? Love is a thing completely illogical. It's another reason I didn't want to give into my love to you. Marrying for love gets you a sixty percent divorce rate. Marrying for logic ensures stability."

I can't supress a burn of annoyance.

"Yeah, sixty percent divorce rate, but most of it's over money, which would only be an issue with you. You're right in that I don't need a ton of money to be happy, but damn it, what I do need is you! Do you realize in that all the women I've been with, you're the first and only one I've fallen in love with?!"

That sorrow grows, simultaneously dimming and making somehow more lovely her normally luminious and expressionless face.

"And you're the first and only one I've fallen in love with too, Nick."

Ugh! Why can't she see the truth that's in front of her?!

"We're more alike than you know, Melody. Can't you-"

"Melody!"

We turn our heads, both of us with startled looks being interrupted.

Racing down the walk is breathless and bouncy Becky, that exceptionally pretty Korean and fellow Greek who's in love with Caveman, only he's too moronic to do anything about it.

She reaches us and grasps Melody by the arm.

"Oh my god, I'm -so- glad I found you! Listen, Post-Colonial Brit Lit is -killing- me! I don't get this Tagore guy at all. Can you help me with him? You're really good at explanations and everything."

My blonde love looks between us before nodding, "Yes. All right. Nick, do come in December. I will be very disappointed if you don't."

As the two girls walk off, I see Becky looking at me in a way that tells me Caveman won't be the first of our house she looks for next time she's over.

...I think today's a good day to cut the rest of my classes. I'll go do some shots.

[Izulde]

I spend the weekend successfully dodging everyone by hanging out for extended hours in different coffee shops around town. The only one in the fraternity who's really big on them is Caveman, and he's in one of his holing up moods.

I can see why he likes them. They're more relaxed than libraries and the right ones are just quiet enough to get a lot of studying done. This has been the most productive non-finals weekend I've had in that regard since my first semester of college. Fitting in a way that it bookends with this, my last semester.

It's Monday now and though I'm not looking forward to class, I drag myself to it anyway. After all, I can't turn into Caveman, always avoiding everything when things get bad. I just needed a little alone time this weekend, that's all.

She's fortunately not there when I arrive and so I'm able to busy myself with actually doing some reading for another class until Morengay enters and begins his lecture.

"Good morning! Hope you all had a fantastic weekend!

I've started grading your exams and I should have them back to you by Friday. Thus far, they're looking pretty good, so there's no need to panic about them. I think the class will turn out to have done well overall.

Now then, when we ended class last time, King Robert I de Semur of Italy and Croatia had just received the nickname of the Holy Warrior for finally and forever conquering the Egyptians, that Muslim caliphate who had plagued the de Semur family since the days of Louis the Great.

This magnificient victory did much to restore Robert's reputation and raise his acclaim throughout Europe, even when many of the counts he'd elevated to power in the former Egyptian territories broke away and declared themselves independent.

Their re-absorption into the de Semur sphere held little attraction for Robert, however, who was much more concerned with a goal that had eluded Louis the Great and Yves the Mad both, namely the unification of the Italian peninsula.

To that end, he declared war on Henry de Hauteville, Duke of Campania and last remaining bastion of the formerly mighty Norman de Hauteville presence. The war was a short one, and by February 1140, Henry surrendered the Duchy of Campania and all its vassals to the ambitious King Robert.

On April 1st, 1140, in an elaborate ceremony that's been written about extensively in both histories and in fiction and has appeared in a few films about the de Semurs, King Robert I, the Holy Warrior, was crowned King of Naples in Salerno, the province of final unification. Now the Dual Kingdoms were the Tri Kingdoms and all of Italy save the Papal lands and the county of Spoleto were under the aegis of the de Semur dynasty.

Even the Duchy of Marche, currently independent from Italy and with a vassal, was ruled by none other than Phillipe de Semur, the heir to the Three Kingdoms.

Here's a map of the European parts of the Three Kingdoms after that famous event."



"As a sign of Robert's growing power, a week after his coronation as King of Naples, the Republic of Genoa, now relocated to the island of Sicily, pledged its loyalty to him, thus once again making all of the island under the de Semurs. Over the next year, two bishophorics added to the vastly growing Three Kingdoms by also pledging fealty, as Robert pursued a path of peace and construction in his personal lands and forsook war, as his ally, the King of France, was so eagerly engaged in against the fearsome Emir of Sevilla.

This peace ended in the summer of 1143, when the Bishop of Alquielia, one of Robert's newest vassals, was attacked by the Duke of Verona, who resided in Germany. Furious at the insult to the Three Kingdoms, Robert proclaimed the Duke unfit to rule and invaded, successfully taking the title of Duke of Verona in September, the same month that the Archbishop of Toscana, Nolfo Campofregoso, one of Robert's vassals, was elected Pope and the king himself fell ill.

That illness did not come from Nolfo's election to the Holy See directly, but rather from the new Pope's selection of a lowly Duke as the Defender of the Faith instead of the Holy Warrior King Robert, as so many had anticipated.

Today must be Picture Day, because I've got a portrait of that dastardly, ungrateful Pope for you all to view."

The class laughs while Morengay pulls the map off the projector to put up the picture.



"There was also the small matter of Robert and Queen Krystyna still bereft of sons. Since the time of Robert's coronation in Naples, they'd only had one more child, a fifth daughter, and the window of time for a son to arrive was quickly closing.

One benefit out of the Verona war, however, was that for the first time in Italy-Croatia history, all of the provinces of those two kingdoms were a unified, unbroken chain of territory, yet another impressive feat accomplished by Robert I, who many historians consider to be on level with Louis the Great as a result of his accomplishments.

1144 brought three important events: Robert's restoration to full health, the Chronicles of the de Semur Dynasts written by Anselm d'Este, one of the most famous authors of day and from whom we have the most complete information about the de Semur dynasty from the earliest de Semur noble we have record of all the way through that period of the Holy Warrior's reign.

And finally, we have the last significant event of 1144.

Another child was born to King Robert I and Queen Krystyna.

A sixth daughter.

Yep, that's right, little woman number 6! The royal couple were now in their 30s and the spectre of Phillipe de Semur, who remained independent and who was universally hated throughout Europe, becoming the next king, loomed large on the horizon.

It was then that other possibilities began to enter Robert's mind. But what those were... Wednesday!"

I feel sorry for Robert. All those things he did and it sounds like this Phillipe guy could ruin it all, if he gets the crown. I know this is all history and has already been decided, but I'm avoiding reading about it outside of class.

That way it seems like a story to me, kind of like a really good TV show that I can't wait to hear more about.

I'm so lost in my thoughts about Robert that Melody's long out of the room before I recognize she's gone. Probably better that way. After the shock she gave me Friday, I'm not ready to deal with her yet.

[Izulde]

Wednesday. Another class day.

Another lecture by Morengay.

"Gooood morning, class! It's time to continue the adventures of King Robert I de Semur of Italy, Croatia, and Naples!

We ended last time with my informing you that after six daughters, the time had come for Robert to consider other measures. But these tactics he was considering, first conceived in the winter of 1144, were of such a nature that he spent close to a full year weighing them.

As Anselm d'Este, the great chronicler, wrote in his personal diary, and I quote:

"The King has been much quiet these last few months and appears occupied with some weighty matter of state. As God is my witness, he frightened me last week when he inquired about certain discrete individuals who could eliminate a problem that has been vexing him. This seems quite out of keeping with the Holy Warrior's normal character and I worry that he will begin to walk a path that will stain his soul more surely than Louis the Great's excommunication."

By November 1145, the inkling darkness that Anselm suspected in Robert was proven true, when an assassin was discovered in the middle of the night stabbing Queen Krystyna in the heart. Although the murderer killed himself so as not to reveal who hired him, the chronicler was only all too quick to denounce the king in front of the court.

According to the records, when King Robert heard this proclamation, he bowed his balding head and said quite solemnly, "Yes. Her blood reddens my hands, but her death was necessary for the survival of the Three Kingdoms."

All of Europe was outraged at this regicide and the Holy Warrior's good reputation was forever after ruined, to the point where almost no one called him the Holy Warrior any longer, but simply, King Robert.

As if to prove all the classes correct in dropping his sobriquet, Robert promptly married 19 year-old Princess Pulcheria Akropolites, youngest daughter of none other than Emperor Alexandros Akropolites himself, the ruler of the Byzantine Empire, a land famous even today for being no stranger to the advantageous killing or two.

This marriage caused a double scandal, for Pulcheria believed in the Orthodox faith, which ran contrary to all of the Three Kingdoms, save for a handful of the provinces in Naples, including, interestingly enough, Siracusa, the royal capital of the southern Kingdom. By the way, the royal capitals in each of the three kingdoms during Robert's time were Bologna in Italy, obviously, Siracusa in Naples and Hum in Croatia.

Call it fate, divine justice, or a simple case of what modern genetics calls the father determines the sex, but a year later, in November 1146, King Robert and Queen Pulcheria had their first child... Robert's *seventh* daughter!

The monarch was quite beside himself according to Anselm d'Este's account, but as Pulcheria was first of all young, secondly one of the most beautiful women in all of Europe at that time, she was forgiven for this fault and the royal couple promptly set to trying again.

And their attempts were successful, for Queen Pulcheria became pregnant again by September 1147, three days after Phillipe de Semur, that rogue Duke of Marche and heir to the Three Crowns, declared war on, of all places, the Papacy, which was still headed up by the old Archbishop of Toscana.

Robert watched this war very closely, as you might imagine, and secretly hoped that Phillipe would manage to die during the fighting. In fact, he so much hoped for it that he declared war on the Duke of Marche and sent 5,000 troops to aid the Pope in his war against Phillipe.

I'm sure it won't shock you to learn that the war lasted only a month and at the end of it, King Robert I was once again the winner, holding in his hands the titles of Duke of Marche and Count of Urbino, which he promptly distributed to more worthy candidates.

It was immediately after this Machiavellian coup that Robert became much more secretive and mistrusting of others, believing only in Anselm d'Este and even then only half the time. He refused to personally ride at the head of any more troops, for he did not want to die and give Phillipe the crowns. Ironically enough, this had the effect of making Robert a much more effective and talented administrator than he'd been at any other point in his years as king.

But in spite of these successes, another tragedy befell the king in June of 1148. Daughter number 8, to match the year! And this time, it looked like there would be no more children, for Robert was becoming steadily more paranoid and on several nights refused to see his own wife, for suspicion that she was in league with Phillipe to be rid of him.

All of this hiding away and the rumours that circulated around them led to increased unrest among the vassals, culminating in the late fall open war of the Republic of Langedouc against Robert. Enraged and cursing epithets against all forms of democractic government, the king ordered the Royal Marshal and the Firenze regiment to subdue the rebels.

In January 1149, as the capital province of the republic was about to fall, another fall was occurring.

Phillipe de Semur, in alliance with Anselm d'Este and other members of the court who'd come to oppose Robert's growing paranoia, marched with the king's own Bologna regiment into Louis Castle, seized the furious monarch and declared him unfit to rule, committing him to one of the dungeons for the rest of his days.

The very act that Robert feared had come to pass.

Phillipe was now King.

That's a good stopping point. See you Friday!"

Poor Robert. What a raw deal.

Maybe it's a sign that I should forget Melody. I don't know. But then, there's a lot I don't know these days, and some things I do know that I wish I didn't.

[Izulde]

Friday. Midterm Grade day. The freshmen all look nervous, but I'm calm. I've been through too many midterm paper handbacks to get flustered anymore. Am I curious to see what I got? Sure, anyone would be. But curiosity's about the extent of it.

Morengay tromps in and slaps a large stack of papers on the front desk that he never uses.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have your midterm papers! You'll get them back at the end of class."

Grinning at the groans that follow, he holds up his hand.

"Now, now I know you want them back sooner, but then you wouldn't pay attention to the lecture. Just some general comments about the papers. Most of them were pretty decent and most of you went with Louis the Great, which is the majority opinion on this question, actually. A few of you went other routes, such as Queen Hermengarde of Navarra and Aragon, which I thought was fascinating, or Hugues or Louis the Great's regency council, etc, etc.

If there's a major flaw that I have to point out, it's that some of you didn't acknowledge other possibilities for the biggest individual or group responsible for the rise of the de Semurs. Not only did you not acknowledge them, but in failing to do so, you also failed to make rebuttal against those other possibilities, which prevented you from getting the grade you might have desired.

Oh yes, and the two of you who used a wiki different from Wikipedia, see me after class. Those of you who tried to use Wikipedia will note that I took the liberty of deleting the relevant articles. I'll put them back up later today though."

We laugh at his shrewdness in getting rid of the articles, even as I'm shaking my head over the dumbasses who tried to sneak another wiki in. Do they really think they're that smart that they can pull a fast one? Heh. Freshmen.

Morengay's ready now and he has two pictures up on the overhead, a map and a portrait.





"What you have here are the European territory of the Three Kingdoms after Philippe's coronation and Phillipe himself. As you can tell, he lived rather well.

What most people often forget, probably because we have no images of her, is that Philippe was already married to a woman who now became Queen Muriella. Very little records exist of her, most likely because King Philippe I was a very domineering, controlling man who wanted all the spotlight to himself, his wife be damned.

One of the reasons for this was due to the fact that Philippe was already 40 when he was crowned, positively elderly by medieval standards and the latest that a de Semur king had ever come to power. Hence, he felt his time was short and determined to make an impact in what years he had remaining.

To that end, he took advantage of the long-standing de Semur claims on the last remaining independent Italian duchies and declared simultaneous war on the Duchies of Milano and Spoleto two days after his coronation.

What this meant was a 3-front war, for the Republic of Languedoc was still at war with the Three Kingdoms, you remember from last time. In addition, while these conflicts were going on, the Count of El-Arish in the Middle East and the Duke of Gailee, in Croatia, both declared their independence, and announced they were going to fight Philippe and overthrow him, claiming Robert I's imprisonment to be unjust. They intended to restore Robert to what was in their eyes his rightful place on the throne and have him freed from his place in the dungeon.

But all of these fights were nothing but small gnats on the giant that the Three Kingdoms had become. The Duke of Milano surrendered in July, the Duke of Spoleto in August, the Governor of Languedoc in September, the Duke of Gailee in November and the Count of El-Arish in February 1150.

In every instance, the rebel was stripped of all titles and forced to surrender any claims he had on de Semur titles, including the kingship of Italy. It was this last point that particularly infuriated public opinion against Philippe across Europe, leading directly to the January 1150 rebellions of the Dukes of Dauphine and Toscana, the latter now based in Nice.

Despite his heavy-handedness in dealing with the rebels, however, King Philippe I was remarkably fair in distributing titles. Only in a very few instances did he keep any land for himself. In fact, some historians point to his appointment of a Muslim sheik in Italy and the former Queen Pulcheria as Princess of Languedoc as a sign of his tolerance and generosity when it was expedient for him to be so. Although I have to tell you, Pulcheria was sentenced to the African Siberia, in other words, the Sudan, to rule as a princess, so it wasn't that great a thing.

In fact, many people reacted to Pulcheria's "promotion" as the punishment and exile it was, so that a peasant's revolt started in Firenze in protest. The Duke of Bosnia, the Council of Ten in Venice and Padua, the Count of Piombino, and the Bishop of Palermo all joined in the outcry, warring on Philippe, all in the name of returning Robert the Holy Warrior to the throne.

And yes, they started calling him that again after Philippe's dealings, Robert's little sin of wifely murder now whitewashed as a necessity for the good of the Three Kingdoms. This bit of propaganda was, I have to say, largely perpertuated overtly by the popular Pulcheria and covertly by her father, the Byzantine Emperor.

Oh yes, here's her picture."



Now that's a pretty girl. No wonder she was so popular. Which reminds me... I haven't seen Melody hanging out with anyone but herself, now that I stop and think about it.

I wonder why. It seems to go against her wanting to get away from the same people. Then again, I only ever saw her when it was just the two of us.. so who knows?

Ah, Morengay's talking again. Time to listen.

"Just about the time Philippe forced the Duke of Bosnia to heel, the Dukes of Calabria, Salisbury, not the English Salisbury by the way, and Croatia all joined the widespread campaign to ouster the iron-fisted king.

More Dukes declared against Philippe throughout 1150 and the first half of 1151, including Campania, Karten, Zara, Sicily, Salvonia, and the Arcbishop of Verona. Karten and Zara combined with the mighty Venetian forces to rampage the Italian and Croatian halves of the kingdom, while the Archbishop of Verona sailed for Cairo. These four, the Archbishop of Verona, the Dukes of Karten and Zara, and the Council of Ten in Venice, became known as the Robert Quartet, for their wish to restore the Holy Warrior.

It was a masterful plan, particularly since King Phillipe I's court was in tatters, with only children and a few women remaining after the repeated handing out of titles. Men were the only ones allowed to lead armies in this era, guys, so a manless court meant a lack of talented and capable leaders to head up the de Semur forces.

June 8th, 1151 was the most ignoble day of a de Semur monarch, for it was on that day that Bologna fell. With the capital province in control of Venice, there was nothing left for Philippe to do but to... keep fighting!

That's right, he cited, of all things, the spirit of Yves I, who refused to give up as a reason for his continued battle. When you're having to reach for a guy who was a known crackpot and believed himself the Messiah as justification for your actions, you know you're in trouble!

By August of 1151, even some of the very new people King Phillipe had elevated to their positions were revolting against him, seeing the carnage and the blood in the water.

January 1152 was the turning point of the Three Kingdoms Civil War, for it was there that a force of 11,000 Venetian troops under the Doge himself, Giacomo de Morra, defeated King Phillipe I and 8,000 loyal Genoan soldiers, destroying every single last loyalist save for Phillipe, who managed to escape. Meanwhile, just 3,000 Venetians were killed.

In August 1152 is when things -really- got ugly. The Kingdoms of France, Germany and Poland, along with the Duchys of Provence and Bordeaux, announced a Robert League and declared war on what was left of Phillipe's domain. By this time, out of what were originally 31 vassals, only 5 remained loyal to him and even they looked ready to join the impossibly sized cabal at any time soon.

It was all over by March 1154. Philippe had no more troops left, no more land, and no more money. He was broken, beaten, and at the mercy of everyone. The King of Poland assumed leadership of the Robert League and demanded all the money in the Three Kingdoms treasury, a full 863 florins. He received it.

By this time, Robert I had died as a result of illness in the dungeons, so there was nothing left for the Robert League to do but make demands of the ruined de Semur monarch.

Unfortunately for the common people of the Three Kingdoms, as successive peace treaties were made, now and again some of Philippe's now vast personal domains, taken one by one when he ran out of people to send to rule the lands, would be returned to him and he waged war, however futile, from those territories.

But gradually, as more and more peace treaties were signed, Phillipe began to fight back, so that by January 1157, all of Sicily was once more in his hands, which was a curious thing about the Three Kingdoms Civil War: It was the people of the Naples Kingdom who were most ardent in their support of King Phillipe I. To this day, it's still not entirely certain just why southern Italy was so much in favor of Philippe. It remains a subject of great speculation amongst historians.

In the same month, the Duke of Zara, by now war-weary, offered a white peace. Not only did this eliminate one of the Robert Quartet from the war, but that particular Duke owned a claim on the crown of Italy. Had Philippe not managed to regain Sicily as a base of operations to fight from, he might've lost the very first crown that the de Semurs ever got, the one Louis the Great himself obtained.

But of course, the Civil War was nowhere near over. Although Phillipe had a white peace with the Duke of Zara and he'd made peace in exchange for giving up claims and surrendering one of his counties to the Archbishop of Verona, the two greatest tigers of the Robert Quartet remained: the Republic of Venice and the always troublesome, no matter who had it, Archbishop of Toscana.

Although King Phillipe I had already lost much of what his predecessors had built up, there was still hope to salvage something out of it.

I'll show you the carnage next time, after I finish the talk on the Three Kingdoms Civil War. For now, the moment you've all been waiting for.... your midterm papers!"

Morengay calls people up in alphabetical order. Naturally, I'm before Melody, so I just flip to the back page, see my A, and walk out.

Screw her and screw the bastards who ruined everything for the de Semurs. Just when they were riding on the top of the world, every damn thing comes crashing down.

Feels like my love life, or what used to be my love life.

Oh well, maybe Philippe can pull something out of the fire anyway. At any rate, I need to go report my grade to Caveman. He always likes it when brothers tell him what they got on papers with his help.

[Izulde]

"When did you get engaged? Bobby's pissed that you robbed him of a chance to set up a lavaliering, you know."

Becky's not only fast, but she's quick, too. She's got me literally cornered into the wall, far away from the drinking crowd in the rest of the basement.

"I'm not engaged. And for your and Caveman's information, a lavaliering can only take place before an engagement, not after the fact."

Her face turns puzzled.

"What? Bobby told me you were seeing Melody and when we saw her with the ring on her finger, we thought sure she was engaged to you. I even congratulated her on it, though I kinda wondered why she seemed so depressed, considering she was newly engaged and everything."

I repress a groan, both from her insistence on calling Caveman by his proper name, which nobody except her does and from her persistence in pursuing the subject of Melody's engagement. It isn't something I want to think or talk much about.

"Yeah well, it's because she's engaged to some Yale asshat who's probably a real dick, all right? Now, do you mind if we change the subject?"

"How do you meet her anyway? And like, what happened between the two of you?"

My impatient stare does nothing to deter Becky's determined, inquisitive look. So, with a great sigh, I tell her everything, from the moment I first saw Melody up until the time she ran into us on the trail.

"Hmm, that's too bad. So I guess that means you won't be asking her to you guyses Formal next week, huh?"

"No. I wasn't going to anyway. Melody wouldn't mix too well with a bunch of Greeks, you know. By the way, did Caveman ask you to Formal yet?"

Becky pouts cutely, tossing her hair as she shakes her head, "No. The jerk just won't give me a chance. I don't know why. It's not like I'm ugly or stupid or anything. If I was Japanese, he'd probably be all over me. Stupid boys and their stupid Japanese girl obsessions."

I laugh at her hilarious sulkiness, winking, "Well, in that case, why don't I take you to Formal? I mean, you're an awesome chick and maybe Caveman will see what he's missing out on when he sees you all dressed to the nines."

"Oh, you have absolutely -no- idea how I can look when I want to", she counters with a smirk that's half-flirtatious, half-dark.

"So I'm going to be the luckiest guy at Formal?"

She takes some time thinking about it, dramatically tapping her index finger on her lips and glancing to the side.

"Hmm, well.... I -suppose- I can go with you. I mean, it beats sitting in the sorority house eating cookie dough ice cream and watching Dr. Zhivago again."

"Man, Caveman really is an idiot."

"Yeah. Yeah, he is. But at least this fraternity has one smart guy. Let me know when I should come to the house and stuff."

"Next Saturday at 5."

She smiles, a soft and brilliant smile that's sweeter, more real than Melody's.

"Good! I'm gonna go now. I'll see you next Saturday at 5, then."

Huh? Is this girl as crazy as Melody?

"Um... why not till then?"

It isn't until she's halfway up the stairs that her answer floats back to me.

"Because then you'll look all the more forward to it, and anticipation's half the fun"

.....

I'm discovering a new evilness to women or maybe it's that all my life, I've hooked up with ordinary girls and I'm just now encountering the really smart, really unique ones.

All I know is, I feel a lot better about Melody now. Going to Formal stag or with one of my retreads would've been an embarassing blow to my rep.

[Izulde]

"Gooood morning, everyone! It's time for me to conclude my bright and cheery lecture on the Three Kingdoms Civil War, so expertly mismanaged by everyone's favorite bad king, Phillipe I."

I'm starting to think Morengay does uppers on the weekend to be so cheerful on Mondays.

"When I left you on Friday, Phillipe had succeeded in losing much of the de Semur territory, but had established a base on Sicily from which he could fight against his remaining enemies, most notable of which were the Republic of Venice and the Archbishop of Toscana.

Unfortunately, what the embattled king hadn't counted on was 15,000 angry Venetian republicans who formed a massive army at the head of the Doge of Venice, nor another 4,000 troops led personally by the Archbishop of Toscana and another 2,500 troops under the aegis of the Bishop of Reggio. Over 20,000 troops allied against the de Semurs could be handled in the Three Kingdoms' high period, but things were fast falling apart and so they were helpless in the face of this mighty power.

Furthermore, Phillipe himself received a serious wound while fighting in Apuila and could no longer lead the troops himself. Still, despite these terribly stacked circumstances, thanks in large part to Orson de Semur, King Phillipe I's only son, the de Semurs were able to prolong the resistance for several years, so that it was not until March 1160 that the Archbishop of Toscana made peace, with the Bishop of Reggio and the Republic of Venice in play.

It was also in March 1160 that King Phillipe I died, broken-hearted in his bed in Bologna, held under house arrest by the Venetians. Legend has it that through help from his childhood nanny, Orson was able to flee to Nice to be crowned King Orson I of Italy, Croatia and Naples. It was with the territory freed as a result of the Toscana treaty that Orson continued in his father's footsteps, attempting to fight against the behemoths that assailed him.



That's Orson's coronation picture.

Rather than concentrate on Apuila, as Phillipe I had poured all his resources into, the new king, who was 27 by the way, sought to find those territories which were closest at hand and, more importantly, had the weakest defense systems, so that loyalists could be freed to join the cause.

More specifically, this plan involved using the Sicilian regiments that were available to free Taranto and then link the Sicilian regiments, the Taranto troops and the freed soldiers of Nice and Firenze to conquer the Bishophoric of Reggio and force him to terms. The plan worked flawlessly and in April 1161, the Bishop of Reggio surrendered to King Orson I, liberating not only the Napoli royal provinces, but handing over Reggio and 2,300 fresh troops. With this sudden tripling of his army, Orson was able to liberate Apuila and cause Doge Giacomo to win a phyrric victory in re-taking Apuila in the spring of 1162.

This, despite the problem that arose when the Duke of Campania, the Republic of Venice's ally, went to war with the Three Kingdoms to assert his claims, bringing 10,000 troops. Although he was given his wishes and the Duke's involvement in the war was short, it still presented a diversion that caused considerable headaches for Orson.

And yet, in spite of all this, it might have been possible to regain control of things had not 4,500 fresh troops arrived from Padua and had not the new Bishop of Reggio, who, recognizing Orson's weak military position, declared independence, taking with him most of the king's small army, along with all of Orson I's hopes for gradually re-building and re-establishing the kingdom of his ancestors.

And then, in August 1163, a funny thing happened.

One by one, the Archbishop of Verona and Salisbury, the Duke of Zara, the Duke of Croatia, and the Count of Foggia sent ambassadors to King Orson I, asking one thing.

To be welcomed back under the de Semur banner.

Orson readily accepted and gradually, a very tiny hope began to again dawn that this long nightmare, this never-ending civil war might finally end, for the good guys.

But of course, whether or not he won... will have to wait until... Wednesday!"

I really, really hate Morengay's cliffhangers and to be honest, it doesn't sound to me like Orson has much of a chance. I've got to like his balls, though.

[Izulde]

"Some of you asked me, after the last class, just why vassals would pledge themselves to King Orson I when he was so weak. That's a very good question and the best way I can think of to answer that is to say that by declaring that the rebel Count of Reggio could go in peace and that the de Semurs would not seek the land back, the nobles of Europe, and more importantly, the former vassals of King Phillipe I, saw that his son would be a very different overlord.

Unfortunately, Orson had no recourse but to immediately summon the armies of these new vassals to embark on his most daring plan yet.

To attempt to do to the Republic of Venice what he did to the Count of Reggio.

The first half of this plan succeeded perfectly, with 4,500 troops, all from the Croatian kingdom, capturing the capital city of Venice in March 1164. The Doge, Giancomo, attempted to rush back to defend his territory, but he was bogged down by having too many troops in Messina and a stubborn refusal on the part of Messinan ship captains and builders alike to aid the Venetian leader in procuring passage for his troops. Nor could he advance onward to conquer the rest of Sicily, because entire towns, even more loyal to Orson than they had been to Phillipe, swore to take up arms if the Doge marched on the rest of the island.

Bogged down by this state of affairs, the Doge could only sit in Messina and listen helplessly while the report came in on June 29, 1164, that Padua, his last territory, had fallen to Orson's army. Forced to terms, Giacomo was permitted to retain his claims on the de Semur titles, but was required to surrender Padua and Venice to King Orson I, who was much more vengeful than many thought warranted in this negotiation.

The Three Kingdoms Civil War was now, for all intents and purposes over, for though the Duke of Genoa, who was based in Cairo, was still in rebellion, all of the kingdoms were now free and Orson was at liberty to distribute territory in order to create a more stable, centralized realm.

He did this with such skill, fairness, and efficiency, that his reputation was wholly and completely restored in the eyes of the rest of Europe and the royal de Semur demense had never been so well-ruled since the time of Louis the Great.

As part of his re-organization, Orson established a new de Semur Four based in Italy, which included Bologna, Ferrara, and the recently taken counties of Padua and Venezia. This was the richest and strongest union of four territories ever in the history of House de Semur and King Orson I's brilliance in composing it has been hailed throughout the ages. In fact, it was after this improbable victory, won thanks to the people of Sicily and Orson's own military genius, that King Orson I received the nickname of Orson the Restorer, for the order and peace he brought back to the Three Kingdoms.

Of course, it must be pointed out that despite Orson's fantastic repair job, the Three Kingdoms were still a shell of their former glory. Here's a comparison."



"The Three Kingdoms after Philllipe's coronation."



"The Three Kingdoms after the end of the Civil War, outlined in red."

We're all silent, just staring in shock at the shrunken borders. It's incredible to me that Phillipe could've done such a bad job and I imagine it must have only looked worse before Orson came in and saved the day.

Heh. Kind of fits the whole thing with Melody, come to think of it. I noticed she's taken to sitting in the back of the room these last few classes, probably to avoid the chance of my looking at her or something.

Morengay's talking again.

"Of course, this map was before the Dukes of Krain, Romanga, Belgrade, and Gailee and the Count of Salerno all pledged their loyalty to King Orson I the Restorer later that summer, so the Three Kingdoms was quickly coming back together, far faster than anyone could've expected before Orson took the throne and proved himself worthy of the Three Crowns.

But the Three Kingdoms was something of a joke name by this time, because they'd been superseded, both in power and in land by two other kingdoms."

"This is the Kingdom of France, the big blue monster outlined in white. I'd like to point out to you that this only includes France's European possessions. Not included on this map are the French North African or Middle Eastern territories. I think it's safe to say the Capets were the greatest dynasty ever to happen to the Franks."



The class chuckles and I'm just staring in disbelief. No wonder Melody has a superiority complex about the French.

Morengay changes maps.



"And this is the other major power of the time, the big purple monster known as the Byzantine Empire, which looked in danger of collapsing during the Dukas dynasty, but then the Akropolite family came to power, seized complete dynastic control, and reversed the fortunes of the Empire to such an extent that Emperor Alexandros Akropolite, father of Princess Pulcheria, Robert the Holy Warrior's beloved wife, was not only the Emperor of Byzantium, but of Bulgaria and Arabia as well. In fact, in many ways, the Akropolite success story is as impressive as that of the de Semurs.

The Capets, while stunning in their accomplishments of the Reconquest in Spain, had the advantage, like Alexander the Great, of already being in quite the advantageous position at the start.

Still, Orson continued to receive the renewed fealty of old de Semur vassals throughout the summer, such as the Dukes of Bosnia, Marches and Slavonia and the Count of Lecce.

Then, in mid-August, the Duke of Marches declared war on the Papal States, now governed by a pontiff not in any way related to the de Semurs. It was in defense of the Marches' vassal, the Count of Urbino. King Orson I, though reluctant to go back to war when the Three Kingdoms were in the process of healing and dealing with the Genoa/Cairo problem, nonetheless agreed to join the effort.

While the war was still ongoing in early 1165, the Pope died and none other than the Archbishop of Verona and Salisbury was elected the new pontiff. But just as before, the Three Kingdoms Pope refused to name his former liege Defender of the Faith and in fact, the new pope vowed to continue the war against King Orson I, saying that no true holy king would fight against the Holy See.

Finally, in January 1166, Pope Octavian I, as he took for his papal name, offered King Orson I Orvieto and Spoleto in exchange for peace. Orson, weary of war, gladly accepted, and the peninsula of Italy took another couple steps towards almost totall re-unification. This little conflict, incidentally, is often cited by historians as the ones that crushed all hope of the Papal States ever being unifiers of Italy. Although they still had two Swiss provinces and Orbetello in the personal domain of the Pope, a One Italy, One God, One Leader, was no longer possible.

It was also this impressive victory that was the second sign of Orson I's greatness. The first was his restoration of the Three Kingdoms almost in full.

The third came in June 1166 when none other than the reknowned and feared 67 year old Emperor of Byzantium, Arabia and Bulgaria, Alexandros Akripolites himself, sent a diplomat with a message.

Alliance of two of the known world's great powers.

King Orson I the Restorer accepted immediately.

Here's Alexandros's picture for the fun of it."



"And one last picture, the Three Kingdoms at the time of the alliance. It's all in the light green."



"Pretty good rebuilding job, wouldn't you say? Of course, there was still a very significant problem facing the Three Kingdoms, but that comes..."

"FRIDAY!" choruses the class with a laugh.

It's an amazing job. Morengay said he was 27 when he took the throne and if I have my math right, Orson was 33 at the time one of the two most powerful leaders in the world allied with him. That means in just 6 short years, he took the Three Kingdoms from a position where they looked like they were going to get hammered, all the way to building it back up to almost as good as it used to be.

That's just incredible to me. I mean hell, I've been going to school 5 years and what will I have to show for it at the end? Some great memories, sure, but just a paper, a paper like everyone else's, leading to some job like everyone else's.

Not like Orson the Restorer.

I'm starting to see, a little bit, what Melody talked about when she used to complain so much about the common classes. I'm not saying she's right, of course, but I'm beginning to see where she was coming from.

Restoring a relationship with Melody, a real one, without all the arguing and the bullshit engagement to Chet, who I can say I hate without having met him... that'd be a repair job worthy of Orson himself.

[Izulde]

"When we left off last time, I told you that though King Orson I the Restorer had done a magnificient job in putting the Three Kingdoms back together, there was still a significant problem within the empire, but that's not entirely correct. The actual situation was that there were a bunch of smaller problems.

These included a lack of land connection between the Italian and Croatian parts of the Three Kingdoms, as well as any land bridge to any part of the Three Kingdoms from Nice, Genoa having been annexed by the Kingdom of Frace. There was also the problem of a significant debt incurred during the Civil War, one that would take up to two or three years to fully pay off, and finally, many in Europe took a very dim view of Orson's acquistion of Papal lands, however rightly they may have belonged to the de Semurs.

However, most of these were trifling issues, so that by August 1167, the debt was finally paid off, the faster rate helped largely by the February 1167 return of the Duke of Toscana and his vassals to the fold. The Count of Trapani also inherited Reggio, thus restoring another piece of Italy to the de Semurs.

Unfortunately, the treasury immediately went into massive debt again after King Orson I paid a guy history calls Charles the Rich a year's income to teach his daughter, Princess Alix, the art of merchant craft. Although the tutelage was a successful one, some questioned Orson's wisdom in this largesse.

However, this hiring proved to be one of great foresight, for numerous complaints began arriving at the Bolognan court about Ermengarde de Semur's corruption as Royal Steward, so that by March 1168, after a full investigation, Orson removed Ermengarde from her position and placed Charles the Rich in charge of the royal treasury.

All remained quiet until January 1169 when the Dukes of Bourgogne and Dauphine rebelled against the Capetian kings of France. Seeing an opportunity to gain some of his family's oldest territory and titles back, for remember, Hugues de Semur, the one who started it all, had Dauphine as his original ducal title, King Orson declared war, citing his long-established ancestral claim, and marched.

The war was comparatively short, so that by June, Orson was named the Duke of Dauphine in the peace treaty. In keeping with his traditional policy, he did not demand that Enrique Jimenez give up the claim he'd acquired on the Italian crown, but what is curious is that he did not require the count of Lyon as part of the settlement. Later historians have suggested that Orson was too keenly aware of his father Phillipe's missteps and they furthermore argue that the king's only interest in this war was to get his family's oldest Ducal title back.

In fact, immediately after the treaty was signed, King Orson issued a decree saying that the Duke of Dauphine would remain part of the Three Kingdoms patrimony and that no one other than a de Semur king of Italy would be allowed to hold it.

Orson's generosity in the Dauphine peace treaty proved to have another benefit. The powerful Duke of Milano, he of numerous Italian and Croatian territories, came in person to Bologna a month later to request that Orson be his liege.

With the Restorer's acceptance came the re-establishment of land connections between Nice and the rest of the kingdoms and, more importantly, between Italy and Croatia. The Three Kingdoms was now almost completely restored and indeed, with the additions of Spoleto and Orvieto, came closer to unifying Italy that it had been even before Phillipe I ruined everything, as you can see from this map."



"In September 1169, the great Emperor Alexandros Akropolites passed away at the age of 71, still hard at work conquering Muslim territory in the Middle East. His son and successor, Alexios Akropolites, already 45 when he was coronated, vowed to continue his father's mission and asked King Orson I to renew the alliance. The Restorer gladly accepted.

This alliance, however, had the side effect of drawing the Three Kingdoms into a war with the Emirate of Edessa, and when Alexios made peace in January 1170 for a substantial sum of gold to pursue other Muslim conquests, Orson summoned the Bologna regiment and set sail for the Middle East, just as his worthy predecessors Louis the Great and Robert the Holy Warrior had.

Of course, the Three Kingdoms still had a presence in the Middle East in the counties of Pelusia and Ayut, but before 1171 dawned, Pelusia fell to the Emir of Edessa and Ayut didn't look to be very far behind, but then, upon receiving word that Orson was on the march to the Edessan capital, the Emir turned around and raced for home.

He was too late, as the county of Edessa surrendered in March 1171 and Orson followed up that coup with an impressive, critical victory in May 1171 in the province of Eira that not only routed the Edessan Emir's troops, but greatly stunted whatever chances the Emir had at seizing something from the Restorer.

While this war was going on, back in Bologna, the Arcbhishop of the Three Kingdoms, 55 year old Richard Kaleel, brought charges of heresy against Princess Alix, arguing that he'd found her with forbidden books. As his daughter was a favorite of his, Orson emphatically denied to pass sentence and the Archbishop was later embarassed when Charles the Rich pointed out that although the texts in question were in Arabic, they were in fact treatsies on the art of accounting.

Shortly thereafter, Alix completed her education in the Three Kingdoms' most prestigous nunnery and was found to have been so accomplished a student that she actually surpassed Charles the Rich in her financial acumen. It was at that time that Charles the Rich sent a letter to King Orson I in the field, saying that he had been in love with the princess ever since he first educated her and begged for her hand in marriage.

Although far more prestigous and indeed, even richer suitors were available for the oldest daughter one of Europe's most revered kings, Orson was moved by the letter and granted his steward's request. Princess Alix was said to have been beside herself with joy when she heard the news, for, as she would later write in her diary, and I quote:

"There is no wiser, kinder, more just man I have ever known than my beloved Charles. When Muriella gave me the news this morning, I wept for joy, for he has had my heart ever since I was a young girl and I have prayed often to God that He might find a way for us to be together. May God grant us still more happiness and protect my father while he is on his holy crusade."

"Oh yes, wedding portraits of the happy couple for you to look at."





I don't know that they look all that happy to me, but I don't get the feeling that Melody's saying the same things about Chet that Princess Alix said about this rich Charles guy. Heh, rich guys... they always get the best girls in the end it seems. I mean hell, Alix was one smart, not bad looking princess.

"As gratitude for Orson's permission, Charles the Rich paid the staggering sum of 910 florins for a dowry, enough to lift the royal treasury out of debt, pay for the construction of an expanded harbor in Siracusa, and still have a considerable sum of money left over to finance Orson's Middle East expeditions.

A week before Christmas 1171, Eira came into Orson's possession and, elated with his success, the Restorer pressed on. But the Emir of Edessa proved a far more wily foe than anyone could've anticipated. Twice in 1172, he defeated Orson on the field of battle, once in late November that put nearly the entire campaign in jeopardy, but with the help of another Charles, the long-time Three Kingdoms marshal Charles Gradegenio, Orson's troops rallied, finally beating back the Emir in 1173 and resuming their assault.

In the lightning campaign that followed Amida fell to Orson in March and Asas in May. The Emir of Edessa was now wholly and completely defeated.

But the Restorer was not content with these victories. Seeing the chance to establish a more permanent presence in the Middle East than either Louis the Great or Robert the Holy Warrior had been able to achieve, he began warring with the small shiekdoms around his new territory.

His efforts were so successful that by March 1174, Orson was able to name himself Duke of Mesopotamia. Although he granted territory to several of his courtiers to keep his demense from being spread too thin, he issued yet another decree, this one declaring that the title of Duke of Mesopotamia would remain his personal title, though unlike Dauphine, those who came to rule after him would be free to do with it what they wished. This last condition was an acknowledgement that the Middle East had always been, though a subject of repeated warfare for the de Semur kings, an area of only minor interest.

Eager to continue his march in the Middle East and to conquer territory that had once belonged to the de Semurs, Orson declared war on the formidable Sheik of Archa, who held, among other territories, Tripoli, once a crown jewel of the de Semur lands. In a May 17th, 1174 battle in Archa, Orson showed his greatest military prowess yet, crushing the Archan armies so swiftly and terribly, that a 5,000 to 4,600 man battle at the beginning ended in a 3,000 to 160 troop split, with the Three Kingdoms the resounding victors.

This campaign proved just as resounding a success and only a massive castle, extremely well-fortified to be the Shiek of Archa's last stronghold delayed Orson from taking the title of Duke of Tripoli until July 1175.

Realizing his troops were tired from the long war and wanting to return home and seeing no benefit in pursuing further conquests at the time, King Orson I the Restorer ordered the troops to return home. With his two new ducal titles in hand, he felt he'd given the de Semurs stability in the region, and more importantly, by keeping Edessa, Bira, and Amida, three strongly defended, continuous provinces, in the royal domain, he had a base from which to launch further conquests should the desire rise again.

The Three Kingdoms had never been richer. Although there was some efficiency issues as a result of the spread of the royal lands, Italy-Croatia-Naples was now making 111 florins in pure profit a month. Even in Louis the Great's time, such a sum would've been unimaginable.

And to think that this was all put together by a king, who, at the start of his reign 15 years before, looked like he was going to lose at least one of his crowns, thanks to the disadvantaged position he was in.

That's a good stopping point for today, but before I let you go, I want you to take a look at the Three Kingdoms' Middle Eastern territory in 1175, with the exception of Pelusia, which now belonged to the Duke of Romagna, Orson's vassal, after a mini-crusade. As always, it's in the light green."



A lot of people thought Louis the Great was a super king, but honestly, after listening to Morengay's stories about Orson the Restorer and seeing all the maps Morengay's put up, I don't think Louis could hold Orson's jock..

But I've got other things to think about, like making sure I've got everything together for Formal tomorrow night. Becky's going to be a real fun date, I think.

[Izulde]

Ask anybody in a fraternity what his fondest fraternity memories are and about half of them will say Formal.

Every fraternity, no matter whether local or national, has two formals a year, one in the fall and one in the spring. The names, colors, histories, and traditions associated with them vary from fraternity to fraternity, but they're all designed for the same thing: To give the brothers and their dates a night to dance, drink, relax, and have fun while dressed to the nines.

Each chapter decides for themselves the particulars of formals, with some hosting elaborate events that are a few hundred bucks a couple. Others, like ours, go for the more economical option.

Tonight's formal promises to be fun. I'm just finishing adjusting my tie when Drake walks in, dressed in a bright blue three-piece suit and by bright I mean shiny. I don't know what the material is, but he'll definitely be easy to spot.

"Hey, man. You got something to drink? I want to get loosened up before formal."

"Yeah, look in my fridge. I got ice cubes and Bacardi in there."

"Cool, thanks."

We're not supposed to have alcohol in the house, but what nationals doesn't know won't hurt them.

Drake takes the rum and a handful of ice cubes, racing out to get to the kitchen for a glass before the ice melts.

Hmm, some pre-Formal drinking sounds pretty good actually, but I'll wait. I'd like to be completely sober when Becky shows up.

I walk down the stairs to find a lot of the brothers and their dates are already there.

"Hey Nick!" "How you doing stud-muffin?" "Nick! Hi!"

I love Formal. Everybody's always so friendly and in such a good mood.

Well, almost everybody.

As I mingle and chat with the others, I notice Caveman standing outside, pacing up and down the sidewalk, smoking in his dark green suede sports coat, probably swearing on top of it.

"Poor Bobby. I wonder why he doesn't talk to people more."

I start and turn around.

There's Becky, smiling and looking stunning in a simple, bare-shouldered white dress and white, short heel shoes. She's got some kind of lip gloss on, too, because her lips are shimmering in the light. Overall, it's not as elaborate as I was expecting, but it definitely works on her.

"Hey Becky! You look great!"

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

I went with the basic black three piece outfit myself. It's traditional and it does look good on me.

"Thanks. And I think he's just getting nervous about the bus. It was supposed to be here by now and he's Formal Chair this year."

She nods and we make small talk while we go back to my room, so I can pin the customary corsage on her wrist. A few minutes after that, the bus finally comes and we all pile on, couples and singles alike.

The ride to the Pine Acres Country Club is about 20 minutes, just enough time for all of us Theta Sigma Phis to get in such great fraternity songs such as the TSP Sweetheart Song, Raiders, and of course, every group's favorite, the Yo Ho Song.

Night's already fallen when we get there and the greens of the golf course look chilly, but beautiful under the starry, clear dark blue sky. Kind of like Scotland, Drake remarks on our way inside.

We usually have our formals here at Pine Acres, both because it's cheap and because they'll serve underagers without any hassle. The room we have this time is pretty nicely laid out, with around 60 tables, a well-staffed bar, a good-sized dance floor, and those dangling icicle lights that's been really popular the last few years.

There's an hour to go before dinner, so I leave Becky to chat with those of her sisters who are dates and go to help Caveman with setting up the sound system we brought with us to save money on a DJ.

"Hey Caveman! Looking good, man. You did a great job of this."

He grunts as he pushes a speaker up on the table.

"Eh, a monkey could set up formal. It's a weak position and it sure as hell isn't going to get me on Exec Board for next year."

Caveman's been obsessed with some time now about getting an officer position when elections are held at semester's end. He's right about probably not getting on Exec Board, but that's more because nobody ever sees him because he's always in his room than anything to do with Formal.

I don't say anything, other than a "Yeah" and help him finish.

Becky's still talking to her sisters, so I stroll over, snag her about the waist and wink at the others, "Sorry, ladies, but I'm stealing my date back. You can get her back later."

They laugh and dart off to their own dates, who are lined up at the bar, drinking like pigs at a trough.

"Mmm... so you had to steal me, did you?" Becky's eyes are alight with laughter or maybe it's the half-full glass of wine in her hand. Asian women never can drink worth a damn.

I pluck the glass from her and finish the rest of it in a gulp, "Yep."

"Nick!" She hits me on the arm. Hard. "You're such a bastard! Buy me another drink!"

She's slightly tipsy already all right. I hope she doesn't go on a bender, because I don't want to have to baby-sit her all night. Well, not that I'd have to. Caveman would do it, but still...

"Sure. But not until after dinner."

"Okay!"

Dinner's buffet-style, with chicken, fish, vegetables, a few different desserts, rice, and so on. It's quite good as it usually is. Becky and I sit at a table with Drake and his girlfriend and Charlie Fontaine and his date, a pretty Latina who's thankfully not Greek. I do get a little sick of seeing so many sorority girls at Formal.

After dinner, Drake, in his role as chapter president, hands out the semester awards. Best Pledge, President's Man, Highest GPA, Most Improved Theta Sig, a few joke awards with stories behind them, and so on. Caveman gets congratulated on a fine Formal, which elicits cheers and applause that he stands up to acknowledge quite gleefully.

Attention whore.

Oh yeah, I've had a few drinks myself by now, both before and during dinner, so I'm not exactly the most clear-thinking.

After the awards, Caveman gets the music going and the dancing starts. Becky and I go out and dance a few, the dinner conversation and the food having made her forget all about her demand for another wine, thankfully.

She's got a light step and dances extremely well, with terrific footwork and a way of matching me that's truly awesome. I've had dates before that weren't such hot dancers, so to have this lovely Korean girl melding and dancing so perfectly with me is terrific.

A few songs later, she starts singing softly along to it. I can't hear her too well, but it sounds really good.

"Hey, you sing really well... you should sing for all of us."

"What? No, I can't... It'd be too embarassing."

"Aww, come on, it'd be great."

Drake, who's dancing nearby, overhears us.

"Yeah! SING, BECKY!"

He's so loud the rest of the room hears him and before too long, somebody's turned off the music and we're all chanting for Becky to sing.

She groans and hides her face in her hands before sighing and smoothing her hair back. It's simple, too, a straight, loosely falling hairstyle that's more charming than a lot of the updos and curls most of the other dates have.

"All right, all right. I'll sing something."

A roar ripples through the room, coming from the waiters and bartenders too, who have stopped to join in on the fun.

"I'm going to sing a song that's originally Korean, but has an English version, too. I'll sing the English one so you guys can understand, but if it sounds a little odd, it's the translation effect. The song is called 'Because I'm a Girl.' "

Becky closes her eyes and a hush sweeps across the room. Her face turns into one of concentration, her brow furrowing, then smoothing as she begins to sing.

I just can't understand the ways
Of all the men and their mistakes
You give all your love
And then they rip it all away

Caveman's glaring at her from the table he's sitting at by himself. It's something I only half-register, because Becky's voice is incredible. I'm too drunk to have the words to describe it, but she's amazing.

You told me how much you loved me
And how our love was meant to be
And I believed in you
I thought that you would set me free

Everyone else is silent, too, staring at her with the kind of rapture and awe that only the best singers can command. She looks angelic there, all in white, with that beautiful voice and the sadness of the words she's singing. How could I have ever considered Melody? She can't be like this after all.

You should've just told me the truth
That I wasn't the girl for you
Still I didn't have a clue
So my heart depended on you
Although I'll say I hate you now
Though I'll shout and curse you out
I'll have always love for you
Because I am a girl

She's looking at all of us, taking us all in with her eyes and gazing directly into us as she gazes into us. I feel a shock pass through me and whether it's her voice, her beauty, or the alcohol, I get the urge to rush up there and just kiss her.

Been told a man will leave you cold
Get sick of you and bored
I know that it's no lie
I gave my all, still I just cry
Never again will I be fooled
To give my all when nothing's true
I won't be played again,
But I will fall in love again

Caveman's standing up now, gripping his drink and chugging it down with a tense look on his face while Becky sings that part about telling the truth again, apparently the chorus. I'm focused on him now, because when he looks that pissed is when he's about to do something really wild and crazy.

I loved you so
Now you leave me in the cold
How could this be, thought that you'd only love me
Into the night, I'll pray that you're all right
You hurt me so, I just can't let you go
You took advantage of my willingness to do anything for love
Now I'm the only one in pain... will you please, take it all away

I'm looking at Caveman and Becky's looking at... me?

Yes, she's looking at me when she sings that last line.

I'm just sitting there, trying to fight through the haze as she goes into the chorus again, when there's the sound of shattering glass.

Caveman's thrown his glass against the wall and is storming out.

Oh. Fuck.

Drake rushes out after him, looking back only to catch my eye and motion me to come too.

Damn it. Still, he's my brother.

I get up and exit, ignoring the eyes on me, while Becky sings on, trying to get the crowd's attention.

Never thought that being born a girl
How I can love you and be burned
Now I will build a wall, to never get torn again

Heh. The girl who wrote the song has nothing on Melody's walls.

With that thought, I go back out into the chilly, starry night whence I came.

[Izulde]

It's raining when I walk outside.

Caveman's furiously smoking a clove, his back turned to Drake, who's trying talk to him.

"Come on, Caveman. So what if Nick brought her? I mean, shit, you never acted like you were interested in her."

"I'm not."

"Then why so pissed off?"

"I'd like to know that, too", I interject as I stroll over to them, the torrent of water splashing on the blacktop and the overhang that keeps us from getting wet, "I mean, fuck, she's just a friend, man. It's not like I'm planning on screwing her tonight or anything."

Caveman turns around to flick his clove in a puddle. A brief plume of smoke rises out of the doused smoke as he gives me a withering look, brows and teeth clenched together.

"Fuck you, Nick! Just because you don't have the fucking balls to have asked Melody before she dumped your ass doesn't mean you've to got to snipe on my shit!"

Drake's gesturing me for to leave so he can calm Caveman down, but I'm too pissed to pay attention. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I mean, the one guy in the whole fraternity who talks to him on a regular basis and he's bitching me out for a friends date?

I open my mouth to answer, but the slam of door hitting door and the angry stamping of heeled shoes interrupts me.

It's Becky, storming out of the building and over to Caveman.

"What the fuck, Bobby? Why are you acting like such an idiot?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

I quietly sneak over to the wall, still irritated, but figuring it's best Becky handles this. Drake slides over to join me, whispering, "Damn. Look at her eyes. They're purple! Far out!"

Drake's right. She's so pissed her eyes, normally light blue, are a crackling purple, well more violet actually, as she reams into Caveman.

"What am I talking about?! I'm talking about you being a jealous asshole! What's your problem, Bobby? I've been waiting for months for you to notice me again! Why didn't you ask me to Formal if you didn't want to see me here with anybody? In fact, for that matter, why didn't you call me back?"

He glowers at her, lighting another clove and exhaling licorice-scented smoke in the air.

We wait for his answer, but he stays silent, looking away and smoking.

Becky stamps her foot in a way that looks cute because of how small she is, eyes flashing darker still, more towards true purple.

"This is bullshit, Bobby! What the fuck do you want me to be? Some cute Japanese girl who calls you baka when you're an idiot like right now and make you cute bento lunches and say no don't do that and blush when you're fucking me? Is that what you want? Well it isn't going to fucking happen, because I'm Korean! Not one of those stuck up Japanese bitches!"

Drake's laughing quietly and I have the urge to do it myself, but I bite my lip and just lean against the wall to enjoy the show.

Caveman shakes his head and finally answers as he ashes on the blacktop.

"No. It's because I didn't have to try for you. You were already there and already liked me."

She stares at him in shocked disbelief, at a loss for words. I have trouble believing it, myself. What kind of crack is Caveman on that he passes up a great girl just because she liked him first?

"If that was true, then why did you fuck me?" she at last responds, in a voice as small as her.

He shrugs, silent and stony again.

"You're an asshole."

No more than a lot of guys, I think to myself.

Caveman shrugs again and looks up to take a drag on his clove and survey the road.

"Oh, wow. A silver Porsche Boxter... I've always wanted one of those... Hard to believe that there's one here."

Becky flares up with anger again, "What the hell does that have to do with anything?!"

Drake and I exchange glances, simulataneously moving forward.

The four of us watch in silence as the sleek little car cuts through the rain and mist, turning on to the gravel driveway that leads to the administrative building and parking before it.

The door opens and a little jolt passes through me when Melody steps out, wearing a white wool coat that runs to her ankles and an incredibly cute red beret. Without looking around, she walks to the door and enters.

"Come on. We're going in", Drake says with a slight grin, already heading towards the door that Melody went through.

There's enough alcohol in our systems that we all think this a fantastic idea and follow him out into the storm and across the lot.

[Cap Ologist]

Fucking cliffhanger.

[rjolley]

Yeah...what is this, sweeps week?

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by Cap Ologist

Fucking cliffhanger.

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by rjolley

Yeah...what is this, sweeps week?

No, it's end of the semester/grad school application crunch time, so I write when I can in between projects, studying for finals, and applications.

[rjolley]

What's more important? Your future or this thread?

I think you know the answer.

[Cap Ologist]

If you're considering moving to Texas, this thread should take priority, especially with all the excessive death penalties here.

[Izulde]

rjolley: Oh I know a lot of answers, that will be revealed in time.

Cap Ologist: Welll...... there'll be another post by sometime next week at the very latest. Hopefully that'll be enough to stave off the Texas Death Squads

[Cap Ologist]

Originally Posted by Izulde

rjolley: Oh I know a lot of answers, that will be revealed in time.

Cap Ologist: Welll...... there'll be another post by sometime next week at the very latest. Hopefully that'll be enough to stave off the Texas Death Squads

Depends on the quality of the post.

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by Cap Ologist

Depends on the quality of the post.

You'll be able to judge it in about 15 seconds.

[Izulde]

We creep our way into the administration building. The hallway's deserted, allowing us to hear two female voices from three doors down.

Under Drake's direction, we inch forward, peering around the door's edge.

Melody's standing in front of a glass counter, golf clubs and equipment surrounding her. Apparently it's the club's golf shop. Behind the counter is a pretty, young girl, maybe about 24, with short, soft brown hair.

"So you'd like to reserve the course for January 5th?" asks the clerk.

"Correct. From noon until 11 pm", Melody confirms.

"I'm going to go check this out" whispers Becky, darting forward before any of us can stop her.

"Melody! Wow, fancy seeing you here!" she calls, the little Korean vixen in the white dress already upon my tall, blonde love before she has a chance to react.

Melody smiles slightly in that polite, aloof manner of hers, "Hello, Becky. I'm just here arranging a small party after the new year. What brings you here?"

"Oh, I'm here with Bobby Schwarzwald at the Theta Sigma Phi Fall Formal."

"Lying bitch!" Caveman hisses under his breath.

Drake's covering his mouth to keep from laughing as he whispers aside to us, "Stay here. I'm going to go have a little fun with this" and before we can say anything, he, too, is joining what is rapidly becoming a crowded counter.

"Ah, there you are, Becky! I've been looking all over for you!"

Becky giggles, sinking back into Drake's arms as he comes up behind her, "Sorry. I just wanted to get some fresh air and I thought while I was out there, I'd see what was in this building."

Drake laughs and shakes his head, winking at Melody as he offers his hand to her, "Becky can be so silly sometimes! I'm Bobby Schwarzwald, by the way. I don't believe we've met."

"Melody Suchet. A pleasure." she replies, briefly pressing his hand with a small smile. Drake has that ability to put anyone at ease, even an ice princess like this girl.

Caveman's eyes are narrowing as he's listening to this conversation and I grab on to his arm, muttering, "Hey man, keep cool. This is funny, right?"

"Is.... Nick Hunter there?" asks Melody, her look a casual one, though I can tell by the faint flush of her ears that it's not so idle a question for her.

Drake nods, "Yep, he's here. He didn't bring a date, though, because he said after you, there wasn't anybody really worth taking, so he's been hanging out with Caveman all night."

"His real name's Drake Winters, but everybody calls him Caveman", Becky chimes in.

"I see." Melody's lips are thin with distaste and disapproval, "Poor Nick, that he has to have such company."

"Yeah, Caveman can be a little weird", Drake admits.

"Weird? You mean a total and complete loser! I agree, poor Nick that he has to put up with that ass all night!" Becky's eyes are starting to get that purple edge again.

The real Caveman snarls and only a well-timed arm twist thanks to yours truly keeps him from darting out into the shop to defend himself. Trapped, he mumbles about how he's going to strangle us all.

Drake quickly glances back and sees Caveman struggling against my hold. He makes a subtle motion for us to get out of there while he turns back to the two women, who are comparing notes on what a pathetic human being Caveman is.

"Hey, Melody. I know a way you can save Nick from Caveman. Come hang out with us for the rest of Formal. That way he can tell Caveman to kiss off and he can hang out with somebody really cool, namely you."

Drake's suggestion draws another small smile from Melody.

"Yes. All right. I think I can do that, because no one should have to suffer a night with a boy like Caveman."

I pull the real Caveman away from the door and we rush out of the building as quickly and quietly as we can, his eyes murderous, mine gleeful.

Now we just have to get back to the formal in time to let everyone know who is who for the rest of the evening.

[Izulde]

We stumble back into the room and things are still going full swing. Although Caveman's still pissed, he stands on a table and shouts for attention.

The crowd, who's as drunk, if not more, than we are at this moment turns to look at him.

"I'm Drake Caveman and the guy coming in with Becky is Bobby!"

"Hi Drake!" everyone shouts agreeably.

That business done, we rush over to Drake's girlfriend to explain the situation. She sighs and rolls her eyes, "Why am I not surprised? And that's all well and good, but what I am going to do about a date now?"

"I'll be your date!"

One of the pledges, a short freshman, cuts in and grins up at Drake's girlfriend, whose name I've forgotten because I see a flash of blonde and white out of my eye.

"Oh, that works."

"We'll call him Two Dates McGee", Caveman mumbles in his ear. It's a good idea.

"The pledge has a new nickname." I solemnly agree while going to the bar. I need reinforcement of the alcoholic variety if I'm going to live through this. Ah, Melody, sweet Melody.

...Where did that come from? Never mind.

Drake weaves through the people to the bar, Becky and Melody both in tow. I concentrate on my whisky and Coke, acting as if they're not there. Caveman's slipped off somewhere. Just where I don't know and don't particularly care.

"You girls in the mood for a drink?" asks Drake, all game-show host smiles and charm.

Becky is, Melody isn't.

"Come on! You mean to tell me you can't drink?"

From the light in Melody's eyes, Drake's just made a challenge he's going to regret.

"Of course I can. In fact, you would be in quite the sorry state after going against me."

God, she looks so damned beautiful when she gets mad like that.

"You're on!" Drake grins, a gleam in his own eyes.

My love leans forward to whisper into the bartender's ear. He nods and starts pulling down bottle after bottle of hard liquor.

Those of us nearby stare with mixed horror and awe as the concoction is prepared. I lose track after about the 12th different liquor and just settle for Melody's smug look as she takes the two tall glasses, shooting one to Drake and reserving one for herself.

She lifts hers, that haughty smile still in place, "Say goodbye to your memory, Bobby Schwarzwald."

"And say goodbye to your dignity", Bobby-Drake counters with a game grin.

Despite the glass's height and despite the amounts of alcohol within, they both chug down in a race, drawing cheers and chants from the quickly growing gathering around the bar.

To my half-shock, Melody slams hers down first. I say half-shock because somehow I get the feeling that she wouldn't challenge somebody to a contest she didn't think she could win.

Drake slams his down three seconds later and salutes her with a smile, "You beat me this time, but I'll beat you next time."

"Pay attention to me, Bobby!" whinnies Becky.

Heh. She gets drunk way too easily.

In any event, Drake heads off with Becky and it's only then that Melody turns to me with her aloof look.

"So, you're here alone?"

"Pretty much."

"Is it really because of me?"

A loaded question to be sure. I play it safe by shrugging. She doesn't answer to that and we stand there together by the bar in silence for a time. I don't know how long. All I know is that it's her voice that breaks the silence next.

"We should dance. Just as friends, of course."

"Sure."

She takes me by the hand and we head out to the floor. I don't know what song's playing and I don't care. I'm just happy that it's slow.

This time, this place
Misused, mistakes
Too long, too late
Who was I to make you wait?

We twirl around the floor with more ability and grace that we should rightfully be doing, given how much booze is in us, but it's all her. It's always been all her. Why me again?

On my knees
I'm last
Last chance for one last dance
Cuz with you I'd withstand
All that to hold your hand

Is this the last dance? My mind's a swirl of images, of sounds. The tub, her hair, her scent, her body, her everything, her everything.

She draws closer to me and as always happens when you're drunk and nothing, nothing matters and everything matters, we kiss.

It's slow at first, but then it's deeper, hungry and full, like we've been starving since the last time and can only be complete again with each other.

The music, the lyrics, the other dancers, everything fades out of mind as we continue our kiss, our bodies pressing together.

In the distance I hear a crash and feel the wall against my back. Or is it her back? I am her and she is me as we meld together against what is apparently a wall in this room, in this little heaven, this little slice carved far away from everyone.

The last words I remember that night are Caveman's.

"For God's sakes, Nick, wait till we get back to the house before you fuck her!"

[Izulde]

I awake to the sounds of birds chirping.

By the sun's slant through my window, I'd say it's about 11 am.

I lie there a moment, gradually letting things come into focus as my eyes adjust to being open again.

"Ahem."

I roll over.

Melody's standing there, looking impossibly cute and appealing in one of my university sweatshirts and a pair of jeans that are probably mine as well, since they hang low on her and I don't remember her wearing jeans last night.

"Morning", I grin.

"It's about time you're up." She tosses me a set of keys, "Here. Go to my house and get me a change of clothes."

Wait, what?

"Um, excuse me, but why do -I- have to get your clothes for you? You're dressed. Go out and get them yourself or just put on..." My eyes dart around the room, finding her discarded white dress, crumpled in the corner, "..that dress from last night.

She sighs impatiently, tossing her hair in that indignant way that girls know how to do so well, "Because I'm not going to be seen walking out of here wearing your clothes like some slut and I never, -ever- wear the same clothes two days in a row."

I'm still only half-awake and while I apparently had the presence of mind to drink some Gatorade last night, judging from the half-full bottle on my nightstand, I've still got a mild headache. Fuck, I don't want to argue about this.

"Fine."

She nods and sits on the bed, picking up the textbook from history class, "Good. I'll just sit here and read until you get back."

Why am I not surprised that she reads textbooks for leisure? I just grunt in answer and head out into the hall and down the stairs.

"Hey stranger. Hope you're not too worse for the wear after last night."

Becky's coming up the stairs, carrying a bowl of soup in her hands. It smells damned good and I'm suddenly a little hungry as I grin at her.

"Hey. Sorry about taking off on you last night. But, well... you know..."

"Yeah I know", she smiles, "It's okay. Drake was a fun date and at least one of us got what we wanted." She looks at the bowl in her hands, "I'm bringing Bobby some soup... He'll need it because he's probably pretty depressed right now, if I know him."

I shake my head in disbelief, "Why are you even bothering? I mean, Caveman's made it clear he doesn't like you like that, so why keep hurting yourself?"

Her smile turns sad then, as she shrugs, "Because I love him. And besides, Bobby's fire. Fire people need someone to tend to them or they'll destroy themselves."

...Huh?

"Um, fire people?"

She brightens, nodding, "Yep. Everyone in the world has the four elements in them: fire, earth, air, and water, although in different proportions and one element will always be the dominant one. Bobby's fire, you're water, Melody's earth and Drake and I are both air."

I think she's on crack and from the disbelieving look I give her, Becky sees she's going to have to explain this one a little bit better.

"Fire people like Bobby are capable of great change or great destruction. They are the creative spirits, the geniuses, the ones who challenge the world around them and either alter it or themselves in drastic ways.

Air people like Drake and I are able to dart from place to place, always ready to discover and explore new ideas and able to fit in any situation and talk to anyone.

Earth people like Melody are conservative, constant, and unyielding. They're the rock on which society depends to keep it going in an orderly, steady fashion."

"Heh, sounds like Melody all right... Believing she and her fellow richies are the ones to maintain the world and rule it."

Becky giggles, "Yeah, you're probably right. Now let me finish. Water people like you are essential to life. You just go with the flow, adapting yourself to your environment and affecting quiet, subtle changes on the world around you. You're the unseen strength, the support that allows others to go and do the grand things they were destined to do."

"Hmmm, sounds like I'm not one destined for fame and riches by your account", I quip.

She looks at me with a surprisingly serious and thoughtful expression, "But would you really be happy with money and fame, Nick?"

She's right. I wouldn't be. Melody's got that right about me, too. It's just one more thing to think about it in the confusion my life's become since getting to know Melody.

"Anyway, the elements don't exist in a vaccum of course. There's relationships between them all. Air feeds fire and ruffles water's harmony, earth traps air and is burned by fire, and..."

...I have no idea what she's talking about.

"And...?"

"And water, your element, douses fire and erodes earth. In other words, Nick, you're able to calm Bobby's most destructive impulses and you eat away at Melody's defenses."

I can't help but grin at that. Now -that- I understand and it's certainly true enough.

"Sounds like I'm the super element then. Nobody can stop Nick the Amazing Water Boy! Roar!"

Becky laughs, starting up the steps again. She pauses when she's alongside of me and leans in to whisper.

"Water's weakness is air. Like I said, we air people disrupt your harmony and leave you befuddled. So be careful, Nick... or you find your smooth waters stormy."

She giggles and dashes off up the stairs, leaving me shaking my head as I go to the door.

That element stuff is absolute hogwash. After all, if what she said is true, then Drake would ruffle me and I certainly don't feel ruffled by him. In fact, he's my best friend in the chapter.

Ugh. I'm going to have to get some more Gatorade. My headache's killing me now after that weird Becky crap. Better pick up some for Melody too on my way back from her house. She didn't look hung over, but a $1.49 ounce of prevention is worth three hours later of her bitching about a hangover.

[Cap Ologist]

bout damn time

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by Cap Ologist

bout damn time

Sorry, grad school app anxieties and a general crappy mood for a few weeks really had me not in the mood to update anything narrative at all.

Still stressing the grad school apps, esp. Oregon State with its Feb 1 deadline, but my mood's improved enough to write again

[Izulde]

It took two trips to find the clothes Melody wanted, because the first time I went, I didn't remember what she wanted. She chewed me out for it and gave me even detailed directions, so I made damned sure to get it right that time.

We didn't hang out together afterwards like I'd hoped. Said she had homework she wanted to get done. I wound up playing video games after she left. Screw it, it's my last semester. Just as long as I pass everything, I'm cool.

Monday, which means Morengay and his obnoxious grin.

"Good Monday morning, everyone! Hope you all enjoyed your weekend!

When we left off last time, Orson the I the Restorer had just achieved unequalled success by becoming the Duke of Mesopotamia and Tripoli, establishing the strongest de Semur foothold in the Middle East ever. The Three Kingdoms were also richer than they'd ever been, turning a profit of 111 florins a month.

A quiet period followed, in which King Orson I concentrated and rebuilding and restoring The Three Kingdoms infrastructure to its former glory and beyond. Indeed, the only event of great acclaim for the rest of 1175 occurred in late September, when Bertrand, Orson's only son and heir, married Simonis Akropolites, the niece of the Emperor of Byzantium, further strengthening the bonds that'd developed between Orson and the Akropolite dynasty.

In June 1176, the unthinkable happened. Upon the death of the beloved and long-standing Marshal Charles Gradegenio, the latest in a long line of illustrious military men to lead the de Semur armies, Orson I appointed Abelard de Hauteville of the once-mighty de Hauteville dynasty as Marshal. Many in the family feared that Abelard would seek to inspire insurrection against the Restorer and once again bring about an independent de Hauteville power.

King Orson I waved off these concerns, saying that no man should be cursed by the crimes of previous generations. Some construed this as hope that the Premyslids might one day be able to return to court, but later historians have proven that this was the wrong hope to have, because Orson was very much attached to the Akropolites of his own generation and to the Jimenez of all generations, for remember, it was Sancho Jimenez, the King of Navarra, who first gave the de Semurs their prestige by marrying one of the women of the family.

In fact, the worriers were half-right. Abelard did incite something, but it wasn't against the de Semurs. It was urging Orson the Restorer to war with the Emir of Mosul, in order that Orson might be known as the greatest Christian king in the world, for Mosul was a formidable enemy and the Emir's defeat would mean that none could challenge King Orson I in terms of prestige or piety.

For those of you who might be surprised at Orson's readiness to accept, I must remind you that it was a common trait of every de Semur king to seek some kind of greater glory. It also doesn't sound quite so strange when I tell you that as part of his building projects, the Three Kingdoms monarch had invested heavily in churches and other religious constructions.

A fierce conflict immediately erupted on the border between the Emir of Mosul's lands and Orson's personal domains. Abelard de Hauteville decided that the best choice was to fight a defensive battle until the bulk of Orson's armies arrived from Italy and Croatia.

The fighting was still ongoing and still very much hanging in the balance when word reached the king on his way to Mosul that Simonis Akropolites died along with her child giving birth. Although Orson mourned for his son's wife and his grandson, he chose to press on to Mosul after sending a letter back to Bertrand, authorizing him to marry whomever he wished.

It was soon revealed that Abelard's plan was designed to destroy the de Semurs, as he deliberately lost battle after battle on the field, causing Bira and Almeria to fall to the Emir of Mosul by February 1177. This plot was not revealed until March, however, when Hransilav of Salerno angrily stormed King Orson I's tent with letters from Abelard to other de Hauteville loyalists. These letters had been intercepted by Hransilav, an expatrite, obscure captain in the Bira regiment who'd escaped the province with a band of his men by nightfall.

Impressed with Hransilav and his story, Orson immediately appointed him the new royal Marshal and vowed to deal with Abelard when he returned back to Bologna.

Under the new Marshal's direction, a plan was launched to attack Mosul directly and begin taking the Emirate province by province from within.

Although initially successful in taking Mosul in June 1177, it was almost immediately reconquered by the Emir, which set the stage for a very long war of attrition that wasn't likely to end until one or the other of these superpowers was fully conquered.

By late December 1179, the Three Kingdoms had not only undergone yet another marshal change, but they'd been driven completely out of the Middle East save for the county of Mesopotamia and the territory surrounding Tripoli.

It was then that the third plan was conceived and launched: to attack the northern part of the Mosul Emirate, which was not only isolated from the rest of the emirate, but also would form a land bridge with Mesopatamia. As incentive to try and get as many people to enthusiastically follow his plan as possible, King Orson I decreed that he would not keep the lands for himself, but give them posthaste to his courtiers.

This not only increased zeal for the crusade throughout the Three Kingdoms, it also had the effect of diverting the Emir's attention as the Mosul leader was of the opinion that the only way to defeat Orson was to take all of the king's personal domains.

It was a shrewd strategy, made all the more so by the Empire of Byzantium's joining the fray. Better still, Orson killed the Emir of Mosul in single combat in a July 1180 battle, meaning two years of regency and confusion for the Emirate. The Restorer pressed his advantage, swiftly conquering all three territories in the north before heading to the Emirate's main body to the south.

Things were progressing well until May 23rd, 1181, when Bertrand de Semur, the Three Kingdoms' heir and Diocese Bishop, who despite limited martial gifts, was fighting extremely well on the campaign, died in battle.

Now there was only one hope for a direct heir to the throne, the child in Antoinette de Blois, eldest daughter of the Duke of Champagne and second and last wife of Bertrand de Semur. Should she bear a son, the line could yet survive. Should she fail, the line would turn impure.

By May 1182, King Orson the Restorer's fight in the Middle East was done. He'd become disillusioned with the Crusade as his friend Anastosios Akropolites used his superior armies to conquer domain after domain, building on much of Orson's own work. Bertrand's death, later biographers have suggested, made him forever after cold to the idea of conquering the region.

So it came to pass that for a staggering 5,365 florins, which turned out to cover all of the massive war debt, Orson the I opted out of the battle against the Mosul Emir, now of age.

Few questioned his heart in accepting the deal, for he'd already spent more money and more lives than virtually any other monarch before him, and though the crusade was not the grand success he'd hoped for, he could at least hold his head high, for he'd not done all that badly, either.

Here's what the de Semur region looked like at the peace treaty signing. Outlined in orange this time, by my 5-year old."

We chuckle as we look at the map on the overhead.



I don't know. To me it looks like he didn't really make much headway at all. But then, I guess that's all we can do sometimes, is just tread in place. Kind of like how I seem to be doing with Melody now.

"What about Antoinette de Blois or whatever? Did she ever have the kid?" asks a fat guy in a backwards Florida cap in front.

Morengay beams, "Yes, as a matter of fact she did. A son, named Errard."

Scattered applause from throughout the room, which the prof grins at before raising a hand.

"But keep in mind, at the conclusion of this treaty, the boy's not even a year old yet and furthermore, he's not even in the Three Kingdoms at all. For where he was... come to class on Wednesday!"

I'll admit, I didn't expect this twist coming.

Then again, I didn't expect Orson the Restorer to fail at something either.

But then, there's a lot that's gone down recently that I didn't expect.

And I have the feeling there's even more unexpected things to come.